This is the first chapter of TO FIND A KILLER. I worked very hard on this chapter so I hope you enjoy it.

Author: Epicocity

Rating: T for Language, Blood, Some Disturbing Images, and Innuendo

Pairings: Edwin, Royai, AlMei, HavBec, and others

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist, that belongs to Hiromu Arakawa and Shonen Gangan.

TO FIND A KILLER

Book Two of the Vengeance Series

Chapter 1

"Stop right there, Martins!"

Roy Mustang's shoes hit the pavement in a hurried cadence. A short distance away he saw his target attempting to escape from his reach by grabbing onto a chain link fence. The metal was wet from a previous day's rain causing the man to slide off it and onto the ground. Mustang's coat flapped out behind him as he continued to gain on the fleeing criminal. Wind whipped past him, tousling his jet black hair, and in his hands was his gun, though it wasn't aimed at anything.

Martins, the man who was being chased, finally managed to recover from his tumble. He clambered up as Mustang finally reached him. The pursuing man grabbed the criminal and tossed him against the same fence he had tried to use earlier. Unfortunately, like his quarry, Mustang forgot about the puddles on the ground and his feet slipped. Martins took advantage of the momentary distraction and pushed Mustang away before proceeding to make a beeline for the nearby alleyway.

"Damn rain…" Mustang growled, pushing himself to his feet. Luckily, his gun hadn't fallen out of his hands. It took less than a second for him to see the object of his chase running down the alleyway. With a grunt, Mustang set off into the narrow alley.

The small space warranted a far more cautionary approach from the cop, but his target didn't need to take such caution into consideration. Soon enough, he had broken into a larger back street. Once he had, Mustang picked up his speed, breaking into the back street himself. Then he saw Martins heading for the main road, a cackle on his lips. Mustang scowled; if Martins did manage to make it into the densely populated main road, his odds of catching the man would become severely low. So, he pumped his legs and pushed them harder in an attempt to catch up.

Martins looked back as he reached the corner to freedom, giving Mustang a wide smirk. It was a fatal mistake.

Roy didn't even need to look to know what had just happened to the man. Whereas one second before he had been running, his single moment to look back resulted in him flipping over and lying on his back. Stretched out before him was a metal arm. Mustang rolled his eyes as he reached Martins and placed a foot on his back, forcing him down.

"You're lucky I was there," commented the owner of the metal arm, finally stepping into view. Mustang scowled at the appearance of Edward Elric; from his braided blonde hair, to his bright red jacket, and most recently to his automail arm. "You're slipping."

"And it's nice to see you're as annoying as ever, Fullmetal," Mustang commented. Martins started to groan, but Roy gave him a swift, "Shut up."

"Hey, I wouldn't have let the guy get this far," Ed commented, using his left arm to take a drink of coffee. Roy snorted.

"Yeah, I know, because you would have easily fit through that alleyway. You are that small after all." Ed snapped a furious look to Mustang, causing the older man to laugh.

"Whatever, Detective Dipstick," jeered the younger forensics specialist.

"That's Chief, now," Roy corrected him with a smirk. It was Ed's turn to roll his eyes.

"Then I can start calling you Interim Chief Clueless." The smirk dropped off his face, easily replaced with a scowl.

"Very funny. Don't forget I'm your boss," Mustang remarked. Ed shrugged nonchalantly.

"If we're playing that game, then let's not forget you owe me." If the sight of Ed's automail arm wasn't enough of a reminder, then the young man's words certainly were.

Ed, of course, was referring to the day he had lost his right arm seven months ago. Normally, Roy would have simply considered the loss of limb as a hazard of the job. This time it was more than that. Part of the reason was that, technically, as a forensics specialist, Ed shouldn't have even been in that kind of danger. But the real truth of the matter was that it had been his own personal lust for vengeance that had caused Ed's limb removal. Edward Elric had given Roy a sense of closure. He had helped him solve the murder of his best friend, Maes Hughes by giving that arm. That was why he owed the young man.

"What? Are you cashing in now?" Mustang asked. The question caused Ed to scoff.

"Not likely." Ed lifted his other arm again, thankfully still flesh and blood, and took another sip from the coffee that was in his hand. Beneath him, Martins was groaning and starting to get up.

"I don't think so, Martins," the chief warned, stomping his foot upon the man's lower right leg. Martins screamed in frustration while attempting to wriggle out of the situation. It hardly did him any good.

A clomping of footsteps dashing through puddles was heard behind Mustang, causing both he and Ed to look at the people approaching. Roy's gaze softened upon seeing his long-time partner, now Head Detective, Riza Hawkeye approach. As always, she looked calm, cold, and professional. Roy, thankfully, knew her as more than that. For the moment, though, her lips were thin and her eyes were blazing: a telltale sign to the interim chief that she was pissed. It certainly made him glad that she wasn't holding her gun.

"Sir, how many times do I have to tell you not to go chasing after suspects on your own? He could have gotten away," chastised Hawkeye. Mustang rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

"He didn't, though," the chief pointed out. Judging from Hawkeye's reaction, that wasn't the answer that she wanted to hear. Her chocolate eyes narrowed, scrutinizing her boss for a moment.

"Why are you wet?"

"Slipped in a puddle," Mustang murmured. He had said it quietly in the hopes that at least Ed hadn't heard. He wasn't so lucky because a second later, the young man threw his head back and laughed.

"Wow, you really are useless around water, huh?" Ed gasped out between peals of laughter. Roy, himself, was not amused, and nor did he find it even remotely funny.

"Shut it, Fullmetal!" Ed refused to comply, so instead of forcing the forensics specialist to stop, he straight up ignored him. Hawkeye, on the other hand, did not do so.

"Either way, he's right, sir," she berated. "It was reckless of you to run off. You could have hurt yourself, let the suspect get away, or both."

"Cut me some slack, detective," cried an exasperated Mustang.

She ignored his protests and continued on. "Besides, shouldn't you be in your office, sir? Last I remembered, you still have plenty of paperwork to do and isn't the chief supposed to leave these kinds of pursuits to his detectives."

She never lets up, Mustang sighed inwardly. The words he spoke out loud were more composed. "We're short-staffed, remember?"

"I do remember," Riza acknowledged. "That doesn't mean you can continue to skirt your paperwork, sir."

"Okay, already," Mustang snapped. Hawkeye looked pleased with herself while in the background he continued to hear Ed's guffaws. "I just like to get out once in a while, and with the Bradley trial I need some kind of recreation."

"Well, your recreation is still considered work to us," said the red-haired detective that had now joined them. Detective Heymans Breda was starting to look thinner than usual, a fact which Roy noted in the East City sunlight. It was no surprise, given the man's increased workload and general hours. He still wasn't as thin as his partner, though, who was currently approaching Martins with handcuffs out.

"Yeah, Chief, leave some for the rest of us," Havoc said, a toothpick sticking out of his mouth. A few months ago, that would have been a cigarette, but Rebecca had long been trying to stamp the habit out of him. Ever since Jean Havoc and Rebecca Catalina had begun secretly (here meaning the whole station knew they were) dating, she'd been attempting to mold him into the perfect man. Thinking on the black-haired whirlwind of energy, Mustang scowled. That anti-fraternization repeal was another thing he had to look at in his stack of papers.

"Hey, don't blame me if you guys are slow," he argued. Breda rolled his eyes but said nothing. In the meantime, Havoc grabbed Martins and hauled him to his feet while slapping the cuffs on him. Mustang, naturally, had to remove his foot from the suspect for the detective to do so.

"All right, Martins, you're under arrest," Havoc told the man. Martins finally seemed willing to give up the fight, probably due to the handcuffs now encircling his wrists.

"Put him in Interrogation A," Mustang informed his detectives. "We need a confession out of him."

"Don't take too long, sir," Hawkeye said sternly with her eyes full of warning. Mustang waved her off as the head detective trotted after her team. Roy finally turned back to Ed, who had stopped laughing and was now occupied with finishing his coffee.

"You look tired," the chief observed. "Rough night?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Ed grumbled, though Roy wasn't entirely sure Ed's frustration was aimed at him. "I swear I'm being driven nuts!"

"The wedding or Winry?" Ed's scowl deepened. Following this, he pitched his presumably empty coffee cup into the nearest trash can before walking. Roy went after him.

"Both," Ed grunted. "If it's not one it's the other and then Marcoh goes on vacation so we're swamped down in Forensics. It's like my own special brand of hell."

"Hmmm…" Roy mused. Looking over Ed he could tell that the twenty-one year old hadn't been resting very well as of late. There were dark circles surrounding his eyes and his usual scowl was marred by even more lines. If the chief didn't know better, he'd say Ed was having marital problems. Of course, that wasn't the case; Ed and Winry were too in love to let a few arguments get in their way. Well, that and they had a baby on the way. "When's the due date?"

"Two and a half weeks," Ed answered, his expression brightening for a moment. "I'd be excited if I wasn't running out to the grocery store every day for whatever new food Winry wants…and Resembool only has one damn grocer. I swear, I'm not ready for this."

"You'll be fine," Roy assured him. For a moment, he directed his gaze away from Ed to notice that they were approaching the police station. As a result, he almost missed what the young man was saying.

"I would be fine if Al and Mei's wedding wasn't set practically right after the baby's supposed to come. Unfortunately, it's the only time that squinty-eyed freak has off." Ed shoved his hands in his pockets before looking at Roy with a frown. "Speaking of which, are you coming or what? Al says that he hasn't gotten an RSVP from you yet."

"Sorry, it's probably lost amidst the massive stack of papers between my home and office. I'll get to it tonight."

"Whatever, I'll just tell Al to put Detective Hawkeye's seat and yours together." Roy would have shot him a dirty look, but the truth of it was that he didn't really mind. He and Riza were in a good place, and with the anti-fraternization repeal on the horizon, both of them felt they could relax a little. Ed suddenly grunted next to him and the chief caught sight of the forensics specialist rubbing the joint where his automail arm connected with the rest of his body.

"Automail problems?"

"Just rehabilitation issues," Ed told him. "Most days I'm fine, but I'm still not totally used to it, even after seven months. Of course, Winry says it's a miracle I'm doing that well to begin with."

Their conversation came to a sudden halt as they pushed the doors to the precinct open. Like every day, it was filled with the usual hustle and bustle: officers going out on patrol, detective's visiting each other's desks and the usual station visitors that were waiting there for some reason or another. It was a comforting sight to Mustang because it meant the damage caused by Bradley's duplicity was finally beginning to heal.

"Well, I should get going," Ed said, raising his hand in farewell.

"Hey, Fullmetal," Mustang called back before the young man could get too far. Ed looked at him in wonder. "I had something important I wanted to talk to you about. Can you meet me in my office in about half an hour?"

"Sure," Ed answered dismissively. Then he left. Mustang let out a breath before sweeping into the main area of the station.

Almost immediately, he heard his name being called by a familiar officer. "They're waiting for you in Interrogation A, Chief."

"Thanks, Brosh," Mustang said to the officer. "Shouldn't you be out on patrol?"

"Officer Ross is on bathroom break," Brosh answered timidly and with a slight flush of embarrassment. Roy resisted the urge to laugh. It was common knowledge that the officer was quite smitten with his partner.

"I hear she's planning to take the DET next month," Roy informed the man. "We may have to find you a new partner."

"Don't say that, sir!" the officer whined. Mustang gave a light chuckle, patted him on the back and set off for the interrogation room.

When he reached the room, he poked his head inside the adjoining room to get the file from his three detectives. Uttering a word of thanks, Mustang brought himself and the file into the interrogation room. Martins was sitting at the table, a glare in his eyes and a sense of defiance that the chief almost always saw whenever he first looked at criminals.

"So, let's talk about drug trafficking, Martins," Mustang said as he seated himself across from the perpetrator. Martins looked to be chewing the inside of his cheek at the man's words. For a brief moment, Mustang thought he'd spill everything, but his words indicated a more obstinate spirit.

"I want a lawyer." Mustang sighed inwardly. So…they'd be doing this the hard way.

"Fine, I'll have my detectives call for you, but I don't think it'll help." The chief slammed the file on the table and flipped it open. "Shipping manifests, phone records, not to mention the stash of drugs at your safe house. I'd say that even with a lawyer it's enough to put you away for ten, maybe twenty, years. It all depends on how much you tell me."

"I ain't telling you shit!" Martins spat, some of his spittle hitting the file folder. Mustang quirked an eyebrow. "We don't rat on our people."

"You might not, but I'm sure any number of your peons looking to avoid time in the slammer would be more than willing to 'rat on your people'." Mustang leaned back in his chair and interlocked his fingers together. "Now, this can go one of two ways: you can confess everything to me and I might be able to get you a reduced sentence, or you can keep playing this little game and we'll keep going until you get life in prison. Your choice."

Martins was really biting his cheek now. It was almost a wonder that it didn't come off. Mustang waited in silence for a moment until, "All right, already! I didn't even want to do business in the East Area. Everyone knows the horror stories about you guys."

"You were using the train and subway system as couriers for drugs. Are you really trying to tell me you didn't want to supply to the East Area?"

"That wasn't my idea," Martins protested. "I just worked the South Area, okay? I had a nice gig and then one day some new cartel moves in and muscles me out. A week later their representative approaches me and offers me a job."

"What cartel?"

"Don't know, but their product moved fast and silent. They offered me a cut, a pretty hefty one, if I used the trains to deliver product across the country. I would've been a fool to pass it up, even though it meant working here."

"Let me get this straight," Mustang said after changing his position to leaning over the table," you were pushed out by a cartel you've never heard of and then decided to work for them in a highly exposed area to move their product. That's either risky, stupid, or both."

"It worked, though, didn't it?" Martins asked. "We worked in this area for at least two months before you guys caught on. I mean, you guys are slipping. The police better get it together or criminals like us might be running the streets."

"I highly doubt that," Mustang answered with a confident smirk. He stood, the file moving with him. "I'll see if your information checks out and we'll revisit your prison term with the DA. You guys can take him to holding, now."

With those words, Mustang left a befuddled Martins behind and exited the room. As he walked away, Havoc popped out with a "We'll investigate it. You'll do your paperwork." Mustang laughed it off as he approached his office and eventually entered it.

His office was an absolute mess; seven months of chaos and changing personnel would do that. Where once stood any number of the now-Commissioner Grumman's artifacts stood stacks of boxes. On top of those unopened file boxes stood other unruffled stacks of paper that were an absolute eyesore to look at. The real proof of the paper-storm though, was the stack that was sitting on his desk…and those had just arrived that morning.

Sighing, Mustang threw the Martins case file on top of one of the paper stacks and collapsed into his chair. Despite it being part of his lifelong ambition to reach this office, he couldn't deny that he hated all the tedious paperwork that came with it. Then there was the fact that he was no longer able to get out into the field as much as he would have liked. Roy's eyes flitted over to the television in the corner of the room and after a brief moment of deliberation, the chief decided that turning it on would be another great way to avoid paperwork. So he did just that.

As soon as the television went on, Roy was met with the jingling that meant the late morning news hour was about to begin. "Good morning, folks, and welcome back to another beautiful day in Amestris. I'm news anchor Chuck Freeman."

"And I'm Connie Miller, here to bring you the latest news of the day on this Monday morning," said the woman on the screen. Roy frowned a little as he leaned back to watch them.

"First up, the results of last week's primary elections are finally out and it looks like the opposing party is putting up a real strong candidate for this year's election," Chuck commented. Connie turned to him with a practically bobbing head.

"President Dante may have difficulty this year, which is surprising after her six near-undisputed wins."

"That whole Bradley mess really put a pall over her term as president, huh?"

"I'm afraid so, Chuck. Any number of people are calling for stronger leadership after that fiasco last year. After all, if the president couldn't see that her own commissioner was crooked, what else has she missed?"

"Well, they may get that chance for a different leader. Although, that upcoming presidential parade in Central may still change a few more minds," Chuck said as he turned back to the screen. "In related news, another long-time incumbent Henry Douglas is being challenged by the heavily supported James Fokker for the position of District Attorney. As many of you know, Fokker is known as one of the men that were instrumental in taking down Bradley and his organization, making him a strong candidate for that lofty position of justice."

"Either way, I think this year of election is going to be one to remember come November."

"I couldn't agree more, Connie," Chuck concluded. "Speaking of the Bradley case, we now take you live inside the Central City courthouse where both sides are giving their opening statements. Over to you, Bill."

Roy suddenly leaned forward in his chair as the picture on the television changed to an inside view of the courthouse. The first thing he saw was Henry Douglas, the current District Attorney, standing before the jury, looking every bit as professional as expected. "People of the jury, we all know King Bradley. He was our commissioner, the man who was supposed to make us feel safe in our beds at night. But he didn't. King Bradley was anything but the peaceful man we all believed him to be. This prosecution will demonstrate and prove to you that Bradley was a man who committed countless crimes, including that of embezzlement and the orchestration of murder, including that of Prince Claudio of Aerugo.

"Men and women of the jury," Douglas continued. "As this trial proceeds, I want you to assess the facts with just a single question in mind: would you feel safe with this man on the streets?"
His statement concluded, Douglas returned to his seat as the judge called the defense to give theirs. Mustang barely paid any attention to Klemin, the man he knew was representing Bradley, and instead focused his eyes on the defendant himself. Douglas' words hadn't even rattled him, and Klemin's speech about Bradley's years of service and shaky evidence didn't seem to affect the older man either. On the contrary, he looked entirely peaceful, yet radiating an aura of ferocity even through the television.

"Catching up on the trial, are we?" The voice suddenly alerted Roy to someone's presence in his office and he wrenched himself away from the court case. Ed was standing before him with his hands in his pockets, staring at the chief in expectation.

"We are testifying in two days, so I thought I'd see how it was going," Roy confessed as he turned it off. "Close the door and sit down."

Ed did as he was asked before staring at Mustang with suspicion. "What's this about, Mustang? I have plenty of work to do."

"As you know, the department's a little short-staffed recently thanks to all the dirty cops and the Bradley business, and it's making case-closing harder by the day," Mustang began. Ed nodded his acknowledgement of the face. "So, I recently had a discussion with Hawkeye, Grumman and the board and we all agreed upon a plan of action."

"Get to the point already!"

"I want you to become a detective." Silence followed that as Ed stared at him, his expression teetering the line between furious and dumbstruck. "I know it's not traditional but the board has said that with a mandated one month in the police academy, a demonstration of firearm techniques, and a high score on the detective's exam we can clear you to be a detective. You'd be partnered with Hawkeye so you wouldn't have to-"

"The hell? !" Ed screamed as his automail arm slammed into Roy's desk. "You couldn't think to mention this to me earlier? Is that why you trained me how to use a gun, bastard?"

"Calm down, Fullmetal, it's just a proposal," Mustang assured him. "And no, I trained you to use a gun to protect yourself, the same way you taught me hand-to-hand combat."
"Bastard," seethed Ed, causing a sigh to escape Roy's lips. "I already spend enough time here as it is and now you want me to spend more? ! I have a kid on the way. I not gonna make him feel like he doesn't have a father because you asked me to. I'm not dying for you anymore."

"No one's asking you to," Roy said. "It was just an offer. You'd make a great detective and I'd rather have you on my team."

Ed fidgeted in his chair a moment, as if attempting to find an appropriate response to such an offer. When at last, it seemed he couldn't, he slumped in his chair before asking, "Can I have some time to think about it?"

"Of course," Mustang told him. "The offer's on the table as long as you're around." Ed nodded, his face looking as though he'd swallowed something unpleasant. He quickly stood and made his way to the door. His movement stopped after he had opened the door a crack, letting the sounds outside filter in.

"Miss Gracia and Elicia are coming over for dinner, tonight. Think you can make it?"

"I'll see what I can do. As you can tell, I'm drowning in paperwork here." He gestured around his office with a half-smile. Ed gave another nod and a scowl before leaving the office, slamming the door on his way out.

Roy rolled his eyes at the young man's impetuousness. He knew the offer wouldn't have thrilled Ed, but he still meant every word he had said. Hopefully, with the baby on the way he'd be more inclined to take a higher paying job. Of course, higher pay meant more paperwork, as Roy himself had found out a long time ago. With a groan of reluctance and remembrance, the chief latched onto his first sheaf of papers and dragged them down to working level.

He had hardly set pen to paper when a knock sounded on his door. Roy didn't bother acknowledging the person's presence because they opened the door a second later. "What do you want, Detective Feury?"

"Sir, there's a visitor here that wants to see you and only you," Feury said. Finally, Roy had heard something interesting besides what had come out of his own mouth today. At least, it was interesting enough to make him snap his gaze to Detective Kain Feury. The young detective (still the youngest on their team) stood there nervously, his large glasses doing nothing to hide his wide eyes. "He's waiting for you in the visiting area."

"Great," Mustang mumbled. Feury took that as a receipt of his words and attempted to exit the room. "Hey, Feury, how're you and Sheska doing?"

"Fine…" Feury answered dubiously. "Haven't had much time to see her lately because of the case load, but…we're good."

"That's good to hear. Thanks for letting me know about my visitor." Feury took that as a sign of his departure and left. Mustang pushed himself out of his chair and left the office, heading towards the station entrance with a groan of annoyance. Today was turning out to be a long day.

It took him little time to reach the visitor's area which he began to survey immediately on arrival, looking for who his surprise guest might be. He saw an older man who appeared to be waiting to give his witness statement for some case or another. Next to him was a middle-aged woman (accompanied by a child) who looked like the wife of one of his detectives. Across from them was another woman with blonde hair who was calmly relaxing while doing her crossword. Next to her was- Roy could have slapped himself.

Taking up most of the space in the visitor's area was the hulking form of Alex Louis Armstrong, who was conversing in a surprisingly quiet voice with the man sitting next to the blonde woman. In reality, he should have been the first thing that the chief noticed with how huge he was. Mustang's eyes slid over to the older man, who Roy recognized in an instant. It was impossible not to with that bushy mustache and balding head.

"Well, it was good to see you again, Detective Comanche," Armstrong said with a slight bow. The older man, Detective Giolo Comanche, patted Armstrong on his bicep with his free hand while his right hand continued to clasp his cup of coffee.

"Yes, I'm glad you've been doing well since Ishval, Armstrong," Comanche responded. Armstrong gave a nod and turned away, uttering a quick "Chief" before he left the area. Mustang and Comanche were now able to fully direct their attentions to one another.

"Detective Comanche, it's been a while, hasn't it?" Roy said, holding his hand out for the man to shake. Comanche smiled that familiar grin as he placed his cup down behind him to shake the chief's hand. The bearded man in the room got up and moved past the two as Comanche spoke again.

"Please, Mustang, I'm retired now," he said. Mustang took a step back to survey the man after they separated their hands. Giolo Comanche hadn't changed since he'd last seen the man in Ishval. He had been one of the detectives that had left during the exodus in Ishval, landing himself in homicide at Central. It appeared that life had been rather good to him there.

"So, what did you want to see me for?" Mustang asked. Comanche reached back and grabbed his cup, taking a sip from it before answering.

"I wanted to speak to you about something privately." His entire demeanor suddenly looked tense, almost like a child who didn't want to tell on his classmates.

"We can use my office or the conference room," he offered, but Comanche shook his head. "Well, there's always the interrogation rooms."

"That'll be perfect." Mustang nodded before turning and leading the pair of them back to the interrogations rooms. A few of the detectives stared at the odd duo, but the chief ignored them. Roy proceeded into the interrogation room he had been in just a little over half an hour ago and both he and Comanche took a seat.

"So, what's this all about, detective?" Mustang asked once they were settled in comfortably. Comanche responded by taking another sip of coffee and giving a slight cough. Now the chief was beginning to get annoyed.

"I saw the news about the Bradley trial while I was waiting," Comanche said solemnly.

"Well, it's a big thing in the country right now," Mustang responded. Where was Comanche exactly going with this?

"Yes, it is…a lot of good detectives' names being dragged through the mud." Roy sat up straight, hearing the near accusatory tone in the man's voice.

"A lot of good people died because of Bradley, too. Don't forget that," he said to the retired man in warning.

"Of course…no one would have wanted that, but things were different back then," Comanche mumbled. Mustang's gaze sharpened in inquiry upon the older man. "The criminal world was very different back then. Before Bradley became commissioner, there wasn't much we could do."

"Are you saying that Bradley's actions, Bradley's murders, were justified?" Mustang asked incredulously. Comanche shook his head.

"No, but…we weren't perfect," Comanche said deliberately. "Sometimes, if we wanted to catch a criminal we had to do things that by today's standards would be considered horrific. Bradley was the first one to allow it. If it wasn't for him and Homunculus Corp, the streets would have run with the blood of its citizens. Bradley gave us that power and he, as wrong as it may have been, he came to practically control the criminal underworld and crime went down."

"What are you trying to say?" Mustang suddenly demanded. Comanche was practically twitching with nervousness now. He took another sip of coffee and gave another cough before continuing on.

"I…" he began, before stopping and contemplating his next words. "I did my duty. I served my country and I put criminals behind bars the best way I knew how. Sometimes that meant doing things that today, maybe even then, would be considered morally reprehensible, but it was the only way. Bradley made that possible. Then…then, you arrested him and everything came out: all the alliances, all the corruption, and no one was safe anymore." Comanche paused here before leaning in and whispering:

"When you arrested Bradley, you poked a sleeping dragon and that dragon woke up." He followed this with a small string of coughs. Mustang continued to stare at him in miffed indifference.

"What does that mean?"

"I mean-" he stated in a raspy voice before cutting himself off with more heaving coughs.

"Are you all right?" the chief asked kindly.

"Yes…I guess that coffee is becoming a little too bitter for this old man," he chuckled. At those words, Roy stood and started towards the door.

"I'll get you some water."

"Much appreciated." Roy just waved off his gratitude as he left the room.

Comanche's words concerned him, though he couldn't figure out why he was telling him. He was the man that put Bradley behind bars, one of the few remaining cops not under his corrupting influence. Surely Comanche realized he had the power to arrest the man. But that talk of dragons and poking…that just sounded like gibberish. Mustang frowned as he reached the cooler and began pouring a cup of water.

"So, Chief," called Havoc's voice from next to him, "heard old man Comanche came to visit you." Mustang gave a grunt as confirmation.

"What did he want?" Hawkeye asked, joining the two of them at the water cooler.

"I don't know," Mustang answered honestly. "He's telling me some stuff about Bradley, but you'd think he'd either have told Douglas or kept his mouth shut. He was about to clarify but he needed some water, so…I'll let you know when I'm finished."

Havoc just shrugged dismissively as Hawkeye turned away. Roy quickly left them with the cup of water clasped firmly in his hand. Still musing over the retired detective's words, he opened the door to the interrogation room and dropped the cup.

Comanche was on the ground, writing and choking furiously, his face purple. The chair he had been sitting on was tipped over and his coffee had spilled all across the floor. It was a split second of a horrific vision that made Mustang freeze before he slid to Comanche's twitching side. "Medic!" he screamed. Beside him, Comanche's twitching calmed down but the chief knew that it wasn't because the symptoms were subsiding.

"D…" choked the older man. Mustang leaned in as Comanche made a desperate grab for his belt. "D…ra…"

His voice quickly failed him though, and Roy found himself in a panic. On instinct, Roy clambered atop him and began pumping his chest, hoping to jolt some life back into his chest. Comanche had stopped moving now, so Mustang pushed harder as he heard scrambling footsteps. "Come on! Come on!" In desperation, Mustang leaned down and listened for a breath…a heartbeat…anything. There was nothing, and Mustang knew the truth. He had known it the second he entered the room.

Giolo Comanche was dead.

Author's Note: Welcome back! Or just plain welcome if you're new! This is the first chapter of TO FIND A KILLER, my (hopfully) highly anticipated sequel to TO CATCH A KILLER. You're in for thrill ride, this time. It may be shorter, but good. A few points though. I'm going to be working on many projects at once including my own potentially publishable fiction and another fanfic for Fairy Tail (probably posted next week) so I may not update all the time. Also, some people mentioned the automail issue at the end of my last novel. Well, modern medicine is amazing and this should clear up some concerns. Just as well, yes you do need to find a killer before you can catch them, so just think why I named the second story "to find" rather than the other way around. Anyway, I've talked your ear off enough, so please leave me a review and as always: Dare to Be Silly.