Got it updated ^^ Sorry if the name change confused anyone, I figured it could be better. So, an extra long chappie, just for you all :D Enjoy!

Days had since turned to weeks and the suspension and scrutiny held no end in sight, as the case did, at least from what Allen heard through Chaozii, the pictures of the few scenes he had seen himself still haunting him day and night and during his sleep, what little sleep he could get under the circumstances. The young man kept his body fit by increasing his exercise routine, careful never to overdo it and stopping the second a new thought or idea came to him. His body had since grown slightly in strength but nothing too defining and nothing that would appear to be defined or even toned. His mind was kept at ease with his own sliver gun on his hip

The bare feet padded the wooden halls, the young man rubbing his mussed white locks as he looked around at the far wall of his living room, the cream coloured wall covered in pictures, maps, every letter that the killer sent after his suspension all in chronological order, the numbers increasing and multiplying immediately after the attack, some taunting while simultaneously seemingly eloquent, speaking to Allen as though the attacker knew him, forcing the young man to stay even further indoors, hiding himself from the outside world and limiting his contact to a few people.

Fingertips traced the yellow paper for the millionth time, his lips breathing a sigh as he looked over every individual letter printed on the yellow paper, the indented pen marks and black ink now firmly imprinted in Allen's brain, his jaw beginning to twitch as anger and frustration started to flow through him anew, frustration at the his own incompetence and anger at the murderer for his humiliation.

"What am I missing?" the rookie asked himself for the millionth time, his eyes looking over everything, the patterns of the bodies on the map, the pictures of his crime scenes, the notes, everything, "why can't I find you?"

The reputation Allen had built himself up was already deteriorating as he spoke, meaning tearing it to shreds for this one man, as ridiculous as it seemed, wasn't ludicrous to him anymore, not so long as he won their little dance. The shrill ring of his phone spooked the young detective his head and body whirling around to look at the black device, his shoulders relaxing before he stooped to pick it up, his voice chiming through to the other end.

"Good afternoon, Allen Walker speaking."

"Hey Allen."

The young man stilled at the sound of his partner, the nervousness evident in the voice.

"Hey Chaozii," Allen murmured, "how have you been?"

"Alright," his friend admitted, "how about-"

"I've already been suspended for three weeks now, I'm tired, I'm going stir crazy and I need to get back on this case!"

"I know," the man groaned, "but Allen, you withheld evidence! You're lucky you still have your badge!"

"Please don't sound like-"

"Cross? He's the boss Allen, and I think… he's right."

The blood in the detective's veins went from boiling to frozen in less than a second, silver eyes widening at the words.

"Wh-Wh…"

"You took this too far," Chaozii told him, "you knew what you were doing too!"

"Others have done worse," Allen snapped back.

"Yeah, and they lost their careers over it!"

"Not all!" Allen pointed out, "some managed to retire. Jones was a drinker, couldn't go two minutes without deep throating a bottle," the rookie started, "Adam cheated on his wife with two hookers and a man, Chang dipped into five different drug raids and sold most of it, that we know of, and Sims got three of his toughest cases put behind bars by forging evidence and we got landed with his suspects when the papers got wind of it-"

"Allen," Chaozii state, his voice stern yet demanding, "what was the order of the retired cops you just called out?"

"What, Jones, Adam, Chang and Sims?"

"Two months ago, those men turned up dead," the other cop whispered, "they were all ruled as suicide or accidental."

"B-But-"

"Jones was found with a blood alcohol level high enough it would rival a keg, doc ruled that as alcohol poisoning," Chaozii started, "Adam was found hanging in a hotel room, it was later revealed that he had AIDS, Chang was thought to have OD'd on heroin and the hookers he was with confirmed it and Sims…"

Allen heart his heart rate pulse through his ears as his friend sucked in a deep breath, his mind already filling in the gaps.

"Sims was the sixth victim we found, though we found him too late, he was practically bone by the time dock workers found him."

"How long had he been there?"

"Dunno," the detective admitted, "he was found washed up, sea water screwed with the definitive answer, they only just found him."

"And no one reported him missing?"

"No," Allen could practically see the other shaking his head, "he was said to be on vacation in Japan, Okinawa or something like that."

"How bad was the damage?"

"Really bad."

"As in…."

"It looked like the guy really went to town on him, not that he showed restraint on any of the victims," Chaozii grumbled, "but this one was really bad like, worse than others."

"Right," Allen murmured as his heart hammered, "th-thanks, look, I um, I gotta go."

"Oh… okay, oh! But Allen, I called to tell you that if you want to come back, you need to clear it with the psychiatrist first."

"Th-The psychiatrist?"

"The one that's helping us on this case, he does psych evaluations for everyone here too, Cross said see him and get the okay and then he's willing to let you come back, but only on desk duty."

"Right thanks, I'll give him a call."

"But-"

"Bye."

The black device was tossed to the couch that landed with a bounce, his feet tearing over to the large wall his heart hammering as he grabbed the lined notebook on the desk table.

Chaozii had just given him one of the multitude of missing puzzle pieces; the killer screwed up. The light pink lips were licked for just a moment before he began scribbling madly away, the attacker seemed determined to rid the world of what he saw as garbage, meaning that a dirty cop would be on the list, it was an amazement one hadn't shown up before, so why Sims?

The other men were drinkers and adulterers, sinners, but not to the extent of locking away innocent people for life-

No. The pencil stopped flying across the page, silver eyes flickering around his room before it resumed; he wasn't a defender, he saw only the sinner never the saint, which meant that if the elderly retired cop was killed for his sin, he'd be no worse off than the banker that embezzled money of the prostitute that sucked for money, which left one reason someone would go ballistic on a man; revenge.

Feet padded over to the large grey filing cabinet, Allen's mismatched hands digging through the brown folders until he grabbed a red one with Sims' name on the label, the pencil in his teeth as he began to flip through it, tens of confirmed cases of people claiming that the detective had screwed with the evidence in their court case. Allen began to pull apart the files piece by piece, his mind looking for similar names of jurors, judges, court reporters, even newspaper journalists, photographers, and arresting officers. There were people similar in almost every case, overlapping from court cases and paparazzi, a few attending two to three while others missed a handful, some sporadic and others were consistent up until a point; death threats, admirers, fan mail, all thoroughly checked with the police Allen was sure, and calling before they did might set off a red flag with them, meaning that the suspension would forever be a stain on his record.

The files were dumped in stacks on the already messed desk, the papers spread out for Allen to see, his silver eyes darting back and forth across the pages, the wheels in his brain turning as a slow smile spread across his face. In his haste for the serial killer, he had entirely disregarded the other sections about suicide or accidents, a mistake that would have cost him the case. Sims death was in none of the articles, meaning the police intended to cover it up and since it didn't throw the killer in a rage, it was obvious that he didn't care about publicity, not with the Sargent's death, leading Allen to believe even more that he was after the officer for revenge.

Paper was pinned to the wall in quick succession as Allen moved back and forth from the desk, many old cases lined in chronological order of dates solved and convictions, the jaw flexing at the sight while his silver eyes kept looking around. His pace was interrupted by a knock on his door, his body tensing as his hand went to his gun, his body against the wall as he slowly approached the door, his eyes looking through the peephole. His shoulders relaxed as he gladly opened the door enough to look out at the tiny old Japanese woman smiling up at him.

"Hello Mrs. Tanaka, how are you?"

"Always so polite aren't you Allen," the woman smiled, her hand to her lips, "such a young gentleman."

"Thank you ma'am."

"I just heard a shuffling above and thought I might have rats! But I'm glad it's just you."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Allen apologized softly, "I didn't mean too-"

"Don't apologize," she smiled at him, "it's nice to see such energetic young men."

"Still, I shouldn't have been so loud, I'm just in the middle of something."

"Well, I'll let you get back to this," she chuckled, "I don't want to be here when you finish building up."

"Thank yo…" the young man trailed off as something clicked, his eyes widening while the young woman turned down the hall, her hand waving as she intended to leave him to his work, "w-wait, Mrs. Tanaka!"

"Hmm?"

"Um," Allen swallowed thickly before he decided to throw caution into the wind, "do… do you know what a moyashi is?"

"Hm?" she turned around, "oh! Moyashi? I cook with them all the time!"

"Cook with-"

"That's just Japanese for bean sprout."

"Japanese…" Allen mumbled, "d-do you think that that's common knowledge among everyone else?"

"Well, someone who studied Japanese or went to Japan could know, you could also look it up on the internet these days."

"Mrs. Tanaka, th-thank you, thank you so much, you have a wonderful day!"

Allen practically bounced into his room, leaving the confused woman to walk slowly down the halls while the young man ran to the large wall, his hands grabbing the notes the killer had slid under his door and notes he had made on the case. The weapon had been a katana, a weapon utilized by the samurai of Japan, Sims was thought to be in Japan at the time of his death, the man teased him with a Japanese nickname, and the notes…

He always thought them odd, they never rhymed yet were organized in three lines, the pencil in Allen's hand tapped against the desk, there was the similarity of the mockery, but there must be something…

The pencil stopped, a smile slipping onto Allen's face once more, his hands clapping as he slowly read out the poem, each one a pattern of five syllables, seven syllables and finally five syllables. A haiku; a Japanese poem.

I don't want to be here when you finish building up.

Legs carried his back over to the new case wall, his head shaking at the thought of his own stupidity. Killers almost always needed to build something up, escalate to this degree; killing rodents, breaking and entering, burglary were the ones the policesought out, but they missed this clue. His hand sped across the pad of paper at a blinding pace; what if they were right that he needed to build up, but they were wrong how. The suicides and accidents Chaozii had written off as unrelated were the pieces Allen needed. Each of the cops were dirty, bad men that hid it behind a badge, if the killer figured it out and got to them, then he must have convinced them to die, convinced them that this is what they wanted, someone you poured out your secrets too without fail, someone who knew your perversions…

Someone like the police psychiatrist.

The pencil clattered to the floor as Allen backed into his couch, his breath coming in slowly as he tried to control it, tried to steady himself. It made sense, the man was said to have police knowledge, have an insider, what better way than a consult to know what's going on. Feet trudged over his jacket, his wallet pulled out and the business cards he had collected over the years dug through until he found the one he wanted; Cross gave them the young man's business card once he had announced that he would be analysing them, the man walking through the precinct only once.

Fingers traced the name on the card while his silver eyes narrowed, the name rang a bell and not from the meeting. His head turned to the desk, his hands beginning to flip through all of Sims old cases, his hands stopping at the first one suspected of evidence tampering.

It involved a young boy allegedly killing his friend at the tender age of nine, during the incident, a young boy, his friend, had pushed him with the intention of killing him, the child stabbing him with the knife in self-defence. As a result, both children were rushed to the hospital, the injury to the skull enough to kill the boy. Sims wove a tale of how the knife was only used to stop his attacker, that the boy was merely trying to save himself but because of his death, the case was put to rest and never saw trial.

Morgue photos were pulled out as Allen stared at them, his eyes narrowing at the boy who had died. Sims described the injuries on the attacker suggested abuse from his foster parents, but Allen saw none of it on the child, the boy looked pristine lying on the cold table, not one bruise in sight.

When he should.

The hospital's pictures were pulled up, silver eyes looking over the injured body Sims was talking about, the bruises of varying colours and location, but almost all were the same size. A scarred hand covered them, his eyes wide when he saw that they didn't fit, his hands too large on the too scale picture. No matter what angle he tried, the bruises were too small. The picture from the morgue was placed alongside the other, his suspicions confirmed when the hand fit, the bruises were small enough to be either self-inflicted or caused by another of his stature, like another nine-year old boy.

The picture showed a very dead-looking boy, his face glaring at the camera while his body was wrapped in a clean linin bandage, the name unsurprising.

The wound was the next interesting thing Allen saw; on most normal self-defence he had seen, the angle was skewed, this one was straight on, and fairly deep if the doctor's reports were to be trusted.

"So," Allen murmured softly, "that's how it is."

The mahogany door opened at the sound of Allen's knock, the tall man looking down at him before he greeted the detective, his body stepping aside to allow the younger in.

"Thank you for seeing me," the detective smiled, "I'm sorry it's so late."

"It's no trouble," the man told him, shutting the door behind them, "it's my job."

"But at this hour?"

"Cross wants ever good officer he has on this case," his hands grabbed his pen and dark green clipboard, gesturing for Allen to have a seat, "the sooner he can have you reinstated the better in his opinion."

"But not yours?"

"I believe that it's better to have three good cops then six bad ones," the psychiatrist told him, settling in the chair across from Allen, "now, let's begin."

"I've never really done this before," Allen confessed, while the pen was raised to the paper, the clipboard balanced on the crossed legs.

"Don't worry," the man smiled, "it's painless."

The better part of an hour was spent with Allen regaling the best answers he could come up with while the man scribbled it all down, his face always impassive as he asked the routine questions before moving on to the harder ones.

"Now," the psychiatrist started, "let's go back to the case that got you suspended," Allen felt his jaw twitch at the comment but the other pressed on, "how are you feeling about it?"

"I-I still want to finish it," the young detective admitted while the writing paused.

"Would you say you're… obsessed with it?"

"Passionate," Allen corrected, "I want this killer caught."

"We all do," the man muttered, "am I correct in assuming that you've been working on this, at home, in secret?"

"Yes," the young man admitted softly, "I want the killer of four police officers brought to justice."

The man paused at Allen's words, his eyes looking towards him, "…four? I believe they've only linked one to the killer."

"They have," the silver eyes looked over at the other, "but I think the other three were his victims."

"Oh?" the psychiatrist murmured as he stood over to his desk, his bod sitting in his chair as he began digging through files, "what were their names again?"

"Their names didn't matter," Allen told him standing, "not to him, he just saw the drinker, the drug dealer, and the adulterer."

"You seem to be in his head," the man murmured, "this isn't a good sign I'm afraid."

"It's a worse sign for the psychiatrist who treated them not to have notice signs of depression or substance abuse," the detective told him, his hand sliding discretely to his gun, "is it?"

The man just stared at Allen, his piercing dark cobalt eyes narrowing as his jaw clenched.

"Or maybe," the younger pressed on, "you did notice how worse off they were, all they needed was a little push."

Silken long black hair was moved over the broad shoulder as he turned back to his notes.

"But Sims was different, you had a vendetta against him."

"Why would I-"

"Because he tampered with evidence, read it wrong on purpose."

Long fingers splayed on the desktop as the elder pushed his toned form up off the chair.

"Alma Karma."

The name made the psychiatrist freeze, his eyes widening as he turned to look at the other, his strong jaw flexing in anger.

"He was branded the victim and you the murderer, but anyone with half a brain could figure out that Alma slipped on your blood when he stabbed you, he stabbed you after I'm going to settle for months of abuse you suffered at his tiny tiny hands."

"Allen Walker you are not an officer of the law," the deep voice growled, "you cannot arrest me with these ludicrous acusations."

"The killer wrote me Haiku's," Allen pressed, "he wields a katana, it is through that we can determine that the man is most likely of Japanese descent… you're from Okinawa, aren't you?"

"What of it?"

"Sims was supposed to be there, but I don't think he ever bought that ticket. You had access to his credit cards, it was easy enough to forge something."

"I suggest you stop this now, Moyashi."

A slow smile spread across Allen's face, "how interesting that you choose a term that the killer did, it's interesting that you too should call me a bean sprout."

"It's what you look like-"

"If I tear apart that desk, I'll find your katana, won't I?"

The man turned to face Allen, the lights in his office clicked swiftly off, the moon flowing through the cracks in the blinds, the glaring face illuminated by the rays.

"Must have access to police investigation," Allen started, "must be intelligent and skilled, doesn't care about publicity and destroyed Sims for revenge," silver eyes stared into cobalt, "you fit that criteria to a tee."

"Do I?"

"Yuu Kanda," the detective announced, "you are under arrest for the multiple homicides and the murders of three police officers."

A slow smirk spread easily over the other's mouth, his lips curling upwards.

"You know," Kanda told him, "I lied."

Silver eyes narrowed in confusion before Kanda suddenly moved to him, the man's chest against his.

Allen looked down in shock; the hilt if the beautifully crafted Japanese sword was pressed up against his taunt stomach, the blade imbedded in his body, the killer smiling sadistically in the night.

"This won't be painless."

Don't I just suck^^

I'm sorry about the slow updates, I just needed to get my juices flowing once again ^^ I'm trying for the rest guys I promise!