It's about 15K, but think of it as both teaser and thought experiment. I
look forward to your responses, both public and private.

                               -ONE-


     Inspector Jiro Takeda looked up from his desk to a most unwelcome 
sight: that of tall and gaunt Detective Lieutenant Iwase Ozawa with 
two large manilla files in his hands.
     "Can I speak with you for a moment?" Ozawa asked.
     Takeda leaned his bulk over his desk to sweep a pile of folders 
from one of the chairs before him. The folders joined the stacks of 
boxes, more files, and takeout luch containers in the disarray of 
his office floor.
     "Have a seat," he grunted with a sip of tepid coffee.
     Ozawa sat down and placed the two folders on Takeda's desk. The 
Inspector did not look at them.
     "I see this place hasn't changed a bit," Ozawa observed with a 
wave of his hand.
     "How are things in the Commissioner's Office?" Takeda asked, ignoring 
the remark.
     "Fine. Fine," Ozawa replied.
     "What brings you down here?"
     Ozawa composed himself slightly before speaking, a gesture that was 
not lost upon Inspector Takeda. "Two floaters have been found in a canal 
in Nerima ward in the last six weeks. Both were teenaged girls, both 
mangled pretty badly."
     "Sounds like a problem for Nerima Homicide," Takeda observed with 
another sip of coffee.
     "That's the problem," Ozawa returned. "It *is* a problem for Nerima 
Homicide. They have nothing right now. Nothing. They don't have anyone 
who has ever had to do something like this before. Most of them have never 
had to even deal with a homicide before." He steepled his fingers. "Nerima 
is pretty tame. They get petty larceny, vandalism, and some disturbances 
of the peace. That's about it. They're almost as weird as Tomobiki ward, 
but basically harmless."
     "What do I have to do with the equation?" Takeda asked warily.
     "We want you to go take a look. Just a look. Give the boys in Nerima 
some ideas, that sort of thing."
     "I don't do that sort of thing anymore. I work for the Special Unit 
now," Takeda countered. "Yakuza. There are no Yakuza in Nerima. Find 
someone else."
     "There is no-one else," Ozawa returned. "You're the only one with 
this kind of experience."
     Takeda cursed. His fat, ruddy, fortyish face became much older, paler, 
and wasted.
     "You think it's a Serial, don't you?"
     "What do you think?"
     "I think you're trying to bullshit me into taking this job."
     "Would I do that?"
     "Fuck you," Takeda growled. "You wouldn't come over from the Police 
Commissioner's Office just to get me to recite a precis on homicide 
investigation to the clowns on the Nerima force."
     Ozawa changed tacks. "You have no idea how big this has become. Hawa 
and Yamaga and the other assistant chiefs didn't even want to listen to me 
about this. I just barely got the old man to open the investigation for me."
     Takeda grunted in thought. Hawa and Yamaga were dull, stupid assholes 
who wouldn't believe in Santa Claus even if the fat old gaijin showed up 
on their doors with a sleigh and a sack full of gifts for them.
     "No-one wants to admit that there's a problem," Takeda said bitterly. 
"Serial murder is the product of the decadent and immoral United States; 
it simply doesn't happen in precious, holy Japan."
     "You'll help, then?" Ozawa asked hopefully.
     "Get someone else."
     "I just said that there was no-one else. You know that. We could ask 
the F.B.I. for help, and Interpol, but you know as well as I do that no 
potential witness will talk to them. They would be outsiders. They can't 
understand our culture enough to make the right connections with the 
evidence. You're the guy who's caught two wackos, remember?"
     "That was a long time ago," Takeda replied, secretly hating Ozawa for 
even mentioning it. "Look, just level with me. You aren't here to ask, 
are you."
     Ozawa's face tightened. "No. I wanted to be polite about it, but if 
you refused, the Commissioner was going to make it an order."
     "Your idea?"
     "No. I recommended you, but they want this matter wrapped up quickly 
and quietly. Before it really leaks out to the press."
     Takeda felt the bile rise in his throat. He thought of mangled bodies, 
of cruelty beyond any ritualized Yakuza hit, of hatred alien and incompre-
hensible to rational minds. Even worse, he thought of the cold bastards 
in the Commissioner's Office. They didn't care that someone was out there 
turning schoolgirls into hamburger, all they cared about was making the 
whole thing disappear. Before the stigma of serial murder in Japan became 
a stain too tough to wash away.
     "I'm in," he said hoarsely. "But on one condition: I get everything 
and everyone I need to finish this. Anyone from Headquarters tries to 
fuck around with my investigation, and I promise you the only thing we'll 
accomplish is counting the bodies in the morgue until there are too many 
to keep this silent from the national media."
     "Fair enough," Ozawa replied. He took out an organizer and a pen. 
"What do you need?"
     "I want Ito over at Tokyo General to do the pathology from now on. 
He's done great work for us on Yakuza murders. I don't care whose ass I 
burn in Nerima, Ito gets first dibs on any more homicides that turn up."
     "Done," Ozawa replied. "Next?"
     "Ichiro Kogata at Latent Prints. He's done floaters before. I want him 
assigned to my investigation full time. Same with Ryu Tokaida at Hair and 
Fiber."
     "Done."
     "I want a liason set up with Frank MacFarlane of Behavioral Science 
at the F.B.I. -including labwork. The same with the Anthropology and 
Forensic Dentistry sections at the Smithsonian Institute. I think Doctor 
Hale Alsever is still a point of contact for them."
     Ozawa's brow furrowed. Outside help would not be appreciated by his 
superiors, even if Ozawa himself recognized the invaluable assistance 
that the F.B.I. and the Smithsonian could provide. "I'll do what I can for 
those. Anything else?"
     "I don't know yet," Takeda muttered distantly. "I probably won't know 
until I get to Nerima. Maybe not until floater number three turns up."
     Ozawa flushed slightly.
     "Number three turned up this morning before I came over to see you."
     "What?"
     "I don't have any file yet. I didn't want to mention it right away 
-unless you were going to say no."
     Takeda's face grew taut.
     "Listen up, you cocksucker. You hold anything back from me again, and 
I'll fucking walk. You got that?"

________________________________________________________________________
          J. Austin Wilde and Fission Park Press proudly present:

                               STIGMA
  
                     By J. Austin Wilde, K.B.C.S.
                       Special Agent in Charge,
                         Fission Park Press
                          wildeman@psn.net
                     http://www.psn.net/~wildeman/

            The characters and situations of Ranma 1/2 are 
            the creation and property of Rumiko Takahashi 
            and Shogakukan/Kitty.

                        --DARKFIC WARNING--

          The following work of fanfiction contains graphic 
          and violent presentations of torture, sexual assault, 
          and murder. It is not for the faint of heart or the 
          easily disturbed.
_______________________________________________________________________



                              -TWO-



     Inspector Takeda took the offered jar of Vick's Vaporub from Doctor 
Ito, and smeared a glob of the menthol creme under his nose. He handed the 
jar to Ozawa, who did the same with absent ease. By the time the jar made 
its way around to the Nerima cops, they aped the others with little 
comprehension.
     Laying on a porcelain examining table was a dark green vinyl bag. 
A large red tag was tied to the zipper. The character for "Evidence" 
was most prevalent. Takeda was glad at least that the shape within 
corresponded to an *intact* human being. Some of the murder victims he 
had investigated in the past had come "some assembly required."
     The Nerima Morgue was an old building next to the ward hospital, 
dating back to the late forties, and done in faded pastel green paint and 
dingy tile that resisted even the most dilligent efforts by the cleaning 
staff. The faint tang of chlorine bleach permeated the room. Old wooden 
cabinets painted a dull white were filled with trochars, autopsy saws, 
rib spreaders, and other instruments behind glass covered doors. 
     Takeda noted that the Nerima ward morgue also doubled as a funerary 
establishment at the sight of packages of Rock-Hard Cavity Fluid behind 
several cabinets. A mumbled question to the Nerima Chief Medical Examiner 
confirmed this: the deceased poor were handled here at a government 
subsidized discount by a moonlighting licensed mortician. There was an 
incinerator in the basement to handle cremations.
     Doctor Ito motioned for one of the morgue assistants to open the 
body bag. The man lowered his paper mask over his nose and mouth and 
proceeded. The zipper made a sighing sound as it opened, and at once a 
horrible stench filled the room.
     "Smells pretty bad," Ozawa remarked. "It's been pretty hot out of 
late."
     "Time of death has been estimated at 10 PM last night," Ito began. 
"She was found this morning just before eight o'clock. That means worst 
case, she was in the water for twelve hours. The preliminary indication is 
that she was dead prior to her immersion in the canal."
     "Cause of death?" Takeda asked. What he saw in the vinyl bag did not 
give way to any specific method of slaying. Instead it looked like pure 
slaughter.
     "Indeterminate," Ito replied. He made a polite gesture to the medical 
examiner. "With all due respect to my colleague, it is very difficult to 
agree upon a specific cause until a full autopsy can be performed."
     "Best guess then," Takeda said.
     "Either strangulation or cervical displacement," Ito answered. "With 
the extensive damage to the face, throat, and thoracic regions, I can't 
find any ligature marks or bruises to correlate strangulation, and the 
broken neck may well be a post mortem injury."
     Takeda nodded. The autopsy photographs of the first two victims showed 
a similar savage disfigurement. Both also had broken necks, though the 
Nerima medical examiner was unable to determine if they were caused after 
death. He didn't hold it against the man, he was way out of his league 
for investigating such atrocities. That was why he now had Ito working on 
the case.
     "Go on, doctor."
     Ito looked down at the mangled girl and sighed tiredly.
     "The subject is a female, approximately seventeen years old, well 
nourished. Apparent good health prior to death." 
     An assistant measured her from foot to top of crown with a fabric tape 
measure.
     "One hundred sixty-two point five centimeters long," he said. She had 
been weighed prior to being brought into the examining room. "Weight is 
fifty three kilograms."
     "Some of that will be water in her lungs and stomach," Ito replied. 
"We'll take a second measurement after we evacuate her torso."
     "The last two reports speculated at sexual assault," Takeda said. 
Several of the Nerima cops grit their teeth at his gall. This was an 
innocent girl, and here he was asking if the killer popped her cherry 
before he did her.
     "There is indication of penetration," Ito said, running his gloved 
hand down into the body bag, and thankfully out of sight. "No sign of 
seminal fluid -that's odd for a murder-rape." He knelt low over the body 
and shined a penlight down into the bag. "Marks inside the vaginal wall, a 
small sharp object, maybe fingernails. I'd rule out penile penetration for 
the moment."
     "Could the killer be impotent?" Ozawa speculated. "Unable to get it 
up, so he finds some other way to violate them?"
     "Either that or he's too smart to risk leaving evidence that could 
link back to him," Takeda countered. "Even condoms aren't foolproof... 
Tell me about all this carnage here, doctor."
     Ito gestured to the ripped and torn body.
     "The face, throat, and torso front are heavily and deeply disfigured, 
the flesh apparently rent. Bone is visible near the sternum xyphoid 
process and right clavicle."
     "Could an animal have done that?" Takeda asked.
     Ito shook his head. "A human animal most likely," he said evenly. 
"The wound patterns don't correspond with tooth and claw injury. Neither 
do they correspond with some kind of instrument. They're *too* messy for 
that. We'll go over the body with a fine toothed comb looking for metal 
and wood slivers, but I don't think we'll find anything significant. If 
you want my opinion, I'd say that this was done with bare hands."
     "Bare hands?" Matsumoto, the Nerima Homicide detective gasped.
     "Yes, someone with great strength and ferocity did this."
     "You mean rage," someone else mentioned.
     "Maybe not a blind rage," Ozawa said. "It's convenient how the 
disfigurement makes cause of death difficult to determine. It might also 
conceal any ligature marks that could be matched up with rope or wire in 
the killer's possession, or marks that could match up with his hand spread 
and finger measurements."
     Takeda mentally gave him a few points for that theory.
     "You're saying he's ripping these girls apart with his bare hands 
just to cover up the evidence?" Matsumoto pressed.
     "It's a possibility. Especially if that's the reason why he didn't 
come all over her."
     "All that damage and you're saying it was strangulation or a broken 
neck?" Takeda teased. "Tell me why you think that, doctor."
     "Simple really," Ito replied. "The disfigurement was post mortem. 
Histamine and serotonin levels in the wounds are very low, even allowing 
for her soak. She was dead for at least five minutes before he ripped her, 
and most likely closer to twenty since serotonin levels are elevated above 
histamine."
     "That long," Takeda mused. "He had to have a place to do this. This 
wasn't something he did on the spot, and then dumped her in the canal when 
he was finished."
     "We've been up and down the canal bank," Matsumoto declared. "We've 
turned up nothing that would indicate that he killed these girls close to 
the water."
     "Unless he killed them in the water," Ozawa postulated. "Somewhere 
shallow."
     "We'll keep that in mind," Takeda said, inwardly not buying it. "Any 
ID on her yet?"
     "No," Matsumoto answered. "We're discreetly asking the high schools 
to take thorough roll calls and call the homes of the absent students, 
but so far nothing. There aren't any missing persons reports for a girl 
in the last five days."
     "That was how you identified the last two, wasn't it?"
     "Initially, yes. We tentatively matched the victims with girls who 
were reported missing within the previous week. We were able to confirm 
their identification with a foot print match against their original birth 
certificates."
     "Who found this one?" Takeda asked, gesturing to the body. 
     "A barge operator named Eiji Ryutaru," Matsumoto replied after 
consulting his notes. "He was hauling old tires from a landfill north of 
the ward. He's about sixty five years old, so we weren't in any hurry to 
detain him."
     "Understandable. How many people have had contact with the body 
before she was tagged and bagged?" 
     Matsumoto gave a few names, but wasn't sure if this was all of them.
Ozawa knew Takeda well enough to know that unsecured crime scenes were his 
biggest pet peeve.
     "If we get another floater," the Inspector told the homicide detective, 
"you will not fucking touch her until my team gets there. I don't care 
if you have to leave her in the water, no-one outside of my team touches 
her. Is that clear?"
     Matsumoto was clearly stung by his words, but nodded agreement. There 
was no doubt that the man was under a ton of heat from higher up with his 
inability to make head-way in the murders. The only way to salvage himself 
was to play along and try to be as helpful as possible. Even if he choked 
on his pride.
     Takeda turned away from the body. "I've seen enough for now. Doctor 
Ito, if you would be so kind as to hold off on the autopsy until Ichiro 
from Latent Prints and Tokaida from Hair and Fiber can take a crack at her, 
I would appreciate it." 
     The doctor bowed for him in agreement.
     Takeda went out the door. Ozawa and Matsumoto were close behind.
     "Now what?" Ozawa asked.
     "I want to go back to where this all started. What was the name of the 
guy who found the first body? I haven't had nearly enough time to go through 
the files."
     "Ranma Saotome," Ozawa said after a moment's thought. "He's a high 
school student at Furinkan High. About sixteen I think."
     "I know him," Matsumoto added. "One of those troublemaking martial 
artists. A real pain in the ass."
     "Martial artist, huh?" Takeda mused. "Interesting. We'll have to pay 
Mister Saotome a visit. Let's get some lunch and some coffee. It'll give me 
a little time to read up on the first case before we go to the school."



                         TO BE CONTINUED


Author's note:

The primary purpose of this fanfic is as a literary exercise for me. I want 
to show the Nerima cast through the lens of an outsider, and a suspicious 
and inquisitive outsider at that. Can I effectively portray one (or more!) 
of them as a convincing if extremely disturbed serial killer? If I can do 
that, can I also keep the killer's(s') identity(ies) a secret until the end? 
Lastly, can I do all of this and still keep it entertaining? I guess I 
won't have these answers until the end.