Means, Motive and Opportunity (Fullmetal Alchemist, detectives AU)
Title: Means, Motive and Opportunity Author: Sister Coyote Prompt bits: Fullmetal Alchemist - Detectives (I interpreted 'detectives' in the '1930s English country house murder' vein -- think Agatha Christie or similar. Imagine them all with British accents! ...Except Greed.) Rating: PG-13 Pairing: Greed/Kimberly/[Archer], and about a dozen others implied Summary: It didn't surprise any of them as much as they thought it perhaps should, to find out that their host was dead. Humor.
It didn't surprise any of them as much as they thought it perhaps should, to find out that their host was dead.
Mrs. Lyra Dante was the least sympathetic of any of them. "Good riddance," she said, and then smirked at Mister Greed, who was sitting -- lounging, rather -- opposite her on the parlor's fine sofa.
Miss Lust, for her part, poured a little amaretto in her tea and swirled the cup gently. "It was bound to happen sooner or later, the company he kept." She stretched her leg out, flexing her foot to pop her heel out of her shoe, and then flexing it again to pop it back. Colonel Roy Mustang watched the entire maneuver with the same focused intensity he had once reserved for dogfighting over France, until Madame Hawkeye elbowed him discreetly in the ribs.
"A little respect for the dead, please," Professor Marcoh said, sounding pained.
"Don't see why." Mister Greed's American accent twanged and growled in sharp contrast to the muted old-world luxury of the parlor. He'd managed, without anyone even quite noticing how, to get the weeping housemaid next to him, and already his arm was around her and she was sniffling into his shoulder. "The dead never had respect for anything his own self. Why start now?"
"I'd expect you to be at least a little broken up about this," Mrs. Dante said. "You and Sir Kimberly were definitely more than business partners."
Mister Greed's smile widened, and he didn't bother denying it. He knocked back a glass of whiskey as if it were water, despite the early hour.
"'Business partners'?' Professor Marcoh frowned. "Sir Kimberly returned to research after the War...."
"That's what they'd like you to think," Mrs. Dante said.
"Perhaps Madame Hawkeye would care to fill you in, Professor," Miss Lust said, lowering her eyelids. "She's excellent at finding things out that she shouldn't."
Madame Hawkeye sighed. "Very well," she said. "Although really Mister Greed ought to explain it -- he is the one involved, after all."
Mister Greed waved his free hand. "Oh, no, I think you've got it covered," he drawled. His other hand was now securely tucked around the housemaid who, no longer weeping, was now holding his drink.
"After the War, Sir Kimberly received his knighthood and retired here, ostensibly to pursue a study of chemistry and physics. In a sense that was true." Madame Hawkeye paused to sip her own tea, which was brewed strong enough to peel paint off walls. "Instead, he formed a partnership with Mister Greed to develop weapons and sell them on the black market. There are many places, particularly on the Continent, where arms sales turn quite a tidy profit."
"Call me whatever you like," Mister Greed said, "but a good entrepreneur always sees his opportunities."
Professor Marcoh looked a little green. "It was bad enough when he was just using my principles to develop weapons for Britain during the War. But to help petty tyrants arm their revolutions -- "
"That," Mister Greed interrupted, "sounds like a motive to me. Anger and betrayal. Classic."
The others looked at him. "A motive?" Colonel Mustang asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Why else do you think we all happen to be here when he died? One of us killed him." Greed looked as though he were enjoying this quite a lot.
"Hold a second." Professor Marcoh held up a hand. "What evidence, exactly, do we have that Sir Kimberly is dead, let alone by murder? Not to be unnecessarily dismissive of the dead -- "
Miss Lust snorted.
" -- but I don't see a body."
The housemaid sniffled and leaned forward, picking up a heavy cream-colored envelope from the mahogany table with the hand not still occupied by Mister Greed's drink. "The certificate of death."
Professor Marcoh opened the envelope and shook out the document. "'Cause of death: Murder'?" he asked after a moment. "Isn't that a bit of a hasty assumption?"
The housemaid sniffed again.
"Well," Professor Marcoh said, "be that as it may, the document is signed by a doctor, certified, so I suppose that answers that. Still. I find it hard to believe you honestly think I would kill him over -- "
"To stop more killing?" Lust rubbed her fingertips over her lips. "Is it so hard to imagine? You found out that Sir Kimberly was... shall we say, misusing the knowledge you gave him. You felt guilty. You begged him to stop. He laughed at you. Desperate, you -- "
"I would never!"
"No," Madame Hawkeye said. "I don't believe you would. That sort of viciousness does not fit with your nature -- even if a fit of rage, I do not believe you readily capable of murder. Mister Greed, however... He calls himself an entrepreneur, but he's more what the Americans would call a 'mob boss.'" She pressed her lips together and set her teacup down in its saucer. "I would believe him entirely capable of this."
Miss Lust rubbed one long, dark-painted nail over her equally dark lips. "But you're not quite what you seem, either, are you, 'Madame' Hawkeye?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Hawkeye said stiffly.
"Oh, don't you? Covert spy ops during the Great War don't ring any bells for you?" Miss Lust unfolded her legs and stretched them out again, reaching for her amaretto-laced tea. "I understand that you and Sir Kimberly worked together for some time. You were crossing enemy lines and feeding him information -- "
"Forget that," Colonel Mustang said with a sharp jerk of his hand.
"You just don't want anyone to know that you and Sir Kimberly worked together too," Miss Lust said. She pointed a talon at him, her eyes heavy-lidded. "He developed the bombs you used in your Sopwith Camel, didn't he? The ones that earned you the name 'Flame Ace' in the War? Or..." She put her head on one side. "Should I say instead that you 'worked together,' if you comprehend my meaning. Though I understand that hasn't been the case for a while. Didn't end well, if I remember correctly."
"That's absolutely -- "
"It's true," Mister Greed said, his foot up on the polished-mahogany table, careless of the finish. He smiled, sharp-pointed, and hooked the mansion's buxom housemaid more firmly under his right arm. "That's an even better motive than Professor Marcoh's."
"I'm not sure we should leave Hawkeye alone just yet, though," Lust said. "I suspect Sir Kimberly found out she knew about his little arrangement. Perhaps some strong words were said, perhaps he threatened to publicize her role -- it's not as though woman spies have the best reputation, after what happened to poor Mata Hari -- and so she did him in. If I remember correctly, you are quite a crack shot, madame."
"Yes," Hawkeye said, with neither modesty nor pride. "But I suspect you are accusing all and sundry in order to deflect suspicion from yourself."
"Me?" Lust drew her fingertips down from the hollow of her throat to her collarbone in mock-surprise.
"You." Hawkeye pushed herself out of her chair and stalked in front of the fire like a barrister making her case. "Because of your relationship with Sir Kimberly."
Lust smiled. "Unlike several other people in this room who I could name, I never slept with Sir Kimberly at all."
Hawkeye made an impatient noise. "You know as well as anyone -- better than most, I suspect, despite your posturing -- that not all relationships are sexual. I refer to a business arrangement. After the war, it was said that Sir Kimberly retired to pursue pure research. However, my sources indicate that you and Sir Kimberly and Mister Greed formed a weapons cartel at that time -- you were the front woman -- "
Lust gave a throaty laugh. "You have no proof."
"On the contrary. I have several documents indicating the arrangement. You should use more secure couriers. I suspect you found out that Mister Greed and Sir Kimberly were plotting to cut you out of the cartel entirely before the big profits arrived, and killed Sir Kimberly before that could happen."
"Suspicions only," Lust said.
"At any rate," Colonel Mustang said, "there's far more evidence that Mrs. Dante wanted to do something to hurt Mister Greed badly."
Mrs. Dante glowered. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she said icily.
"Madame Hawkeye isn't the only one who has a few connections. I happen to know that you and Mister Greed were involved some years ago -- and that he left you, and told your husband about the affair in the process. Fortunately for you, your husband died before he could reveal that damaging information. Convenient."
"How dare you imply such a thing!"
Colonel Mustang went on. "You wanted to hurt Mister Greed badly. You knew that killing Sir Kimberly would take a lover from him and ruin his business prospects."
"Ridiculous," Mrs. Dante said. "There are far easier ways to hurt a man than to go to all that trouble, and if I wanted to hurt Mister Greed so badly, I could have killed him instead."
"Not likely," Greed said, and smirked. "But I still think it makes the most sense that it was the Colonel." He gave Colonel Mustang a lazy smile. "The spurned lover -- an argument -- a crime of passion -- "
"You're insane," Colonel Mustang said.
"Am I?" In one fluid motion, without even upsetting the housemaid now half on his lap, Greed kicked open the bag at the foot of Mustang's chair.
Out rolled a length of pipe. Everyone stared at the Colonel.
"I can explain," he said.
"Please do," said Mister Greed, and leaned back again, looking very satisfied.
"When I was here last night -- like all the rest of you -- I noticed a pipe dripping in my room. The sound of the water was driving me crazy, so I found a spare in the basement and replaced the pipe."
"Dripping water bothers you that much?"
"You have no idea. Anyway, Madame Hawkeye was there, she can corroborate."
Madame Hawkeye nodded.
"That means nothing," Lust said. "She'd lie for you."
Madame Hawkeye bristled. "I -- "
"No," Mister Greed said. "It all makes perfect sense. Last night, after you arrived, you slipped out of your room, found Sir Kimberly -- probably studying, as he tends to do in the evenings -- "
"I did no such -- !"
"No, I think you did, Colonel Mustang. In the library, with the lead pipe." Mister Greed nudged the pipe with his toe. It rolled across the floor.
There was a moment of silence, and then the entire room erupted into pandemonium.
"Wait a moment," Hawkeye shouted. "Wait a moment." No one listened. "I said quiet!" she said, raising her voice, though it wasn't her commanding tone that silenced everyone so much as the much softer sound of a pistol cocking. When everyone had stilled, she smiled a little, re-holstered her weapon discreetly under her jacket, and said, "Before we hear any more accusations, let me see that death certificate again." She took it from Professor Marcoh, her eyes flicking back and forth over the lines, and then sighed. "As I thought. Signed by Doctor Frank Archer."
"So?" Mrs. Dante asked.
"To put it bluntly, that throws the legitimacy of this entire document into some question."
"You think a doctor would falsify such an important document?" Professor Marcoh asked.
Hawkeye pinned him with a level gaze. Marcoh shrugged.
Colonel Mustang rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Doctor Archer and Sir Kimberly were old friends. Old... close... friends."
"Is there anyone who wasn't sleeping with this gentleman?" Mrs. Dante snapped.
"I wasn't," Miss Lust said.
"Neither was I," Professor Marcoh said, with some vehemence.
"He was a very attractive man," Madame Hawkeye said. "Or is, I suppose."
There was an awkward pause.
"I'm glad you think so," said a voice from the doorway. Six heads craned to look.
Sir Kimberly lounged in the doorframe, quite alive and looking intensely amused.
The room erupted again in angry shouting, demands for explanation, and -- from the housemaid -- more tears.
Sir Kimberly ignored all of it. He sauntered over to the sofa, bent over, and kissed Mister Greed in what many would have considered a downright obscene fashion.
"You knew," Mrs. Dante said, venomously, to Mister Greed. "You knew perfectly well that he wasn't dead!"
"Nope," Greed said, still grinning.
"Why the charade, then?" Professor Marcoh asked.
Sir Kimberly shrugged, a slow motion that rolled the narrow muscles of his back and shoulders. "You were all very entertaining indeed. Livened up my whole weekend."
"You have no right yanking our chains like that," Madame Hawkeye said severely. Sir Kimberly just shrugged, as if what he had a right to was of little concern to him.
"You put the leaky pipe in my room," Colonel Mustang said. "You know I hate dripping water."
Sir Kimberly leaned over the back of the sofa. "I take it you missed me, then, Colonel."
Colonel Mustang set his jaw.
Miss Lust rolled her eyes. "Are we quite done here? It may have been entertaining for you, Zolf, but I found the whole thing quite tedious."
"I doubt that." Sir Kimberly smiled. "And you can't leave so soon. The Snake's here to pick up a shipment, and she'll be quite put out if she misses you."
"Martel's here?"
"Upstairs," Sir Kimberly said. Miss Lust managed to not quite leap out of her chair, though a muscle in her leg twitched as though she wanted to. "As for the rest of you," Sir Kimberly continued, "I don't really care what you do. You've kept me amused. Except you." He tugged at the back of Mister Greed's jacket. "You and I are going to go celebrate my death and resurrection."
Mister Greed tilted his head back for a smile. "Is Doctor Archer around?"
"Always living up to your name, aren't you? Crass American." Sir Kimberly said.
"You didn't answer my question."
Madame Hawkeye rolled her eyes; Colonel Mustang tried not to look intrigued; Professor Marcoh sighed; Mrs. Dante snorted. Sir Kimberly said, "As a matter of fact, he is."
***
Author's Note: Why yes, I did play Clue endlessly as a child!