________________________________________________________________________
J. Austin Wilde and Fission Park Press proudly present:
STIGMA
Part Two
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 TV.
--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.
_______________________________________________________________________
-Six-
Akane Tendo stood with her back to them as they stepped into the
dojo. Ranma excused himself, not wanting to be spend any more time in the
company of the police.
The dojo floor was freshly waxed, Takeda could tell by the strong
sweet smell in the air. The wooden surface was only lightly buffed to keep
it from being too slick. Their shoes seemed to stick as they walked inside.
Akane heard them enter and turned around to face them. She was red faced
with exertion, streams of sweat trickling down from her temples to her
yellow gi.
"Hello," she greeted. "Can I help you? Classes aren't scheduled until
tomorrow morning I'm afraid."
Takeda flashed his tin and made the introductions.
"I'd like to ask you a few questions."
Akane nodded dumbly. Like most Japanese, she had great respect for
authority, so she stood still and waited for him to continue.
"I'd like to start with a few basic questions about yourself for
the record. Then I'd like to continue with a few questions about your
fianc�."
"Ranma?" Akane blurted. "Why do you need to ask me about Ranma?"
Takeda adjusted his tie. "Ranma Saotome is a potential witness. I'd
like to have some background information on him to give to the prosecution
in a possible criminal trial."
Akane's face showed concern, Takeda jumped right into the explanation.
"I have to know if Ranma can be considered a reliable witness for
testimony. If he ends up being discredited by the defense -even if he tells
the whole truth as he knows it- it could go very bad for us in court."
"Does this mean you caught the killer?" Akane asked.
"We're very close," Takeda lied. "We're trying to get everything
ready to go in court for when we do catch him."
"Oh. Ask away, I guess."
Takeda nodded. He took out a notepad. Ozawa and Matsumoto followed
suit.
"First off, your name and age?"
"Tendo Akane. I'm seventeen."
"Good. How long have you lived in this house, Akane?"
"All my life."
"So it could be said that you have a pretty good knowledge of the
neighborhood and the people in it?"
Akane nodded slowly. "I guess so."
"How long have you known Ranma Saotome?"
Akane thought for a moment. "About a year, I guess."
"And how long has he been your fianc�?"
She blushed. "About the same amount of time."
"Would you consider Ranma to be a trustworthy person? Can you believe
what he says most of the time?"
Akane bit her lip. "Um, most of the time I guess."
"You don't sound very sure of yourself," Takeda pointed out. "Could
you clarify that for us?"
"Well... I guess most of the time you can believe what he says, but
he can be a real jerk sometimes."
"How is he a jerk, Akane?"
Akane shuffled her feet a bit before responding.
"Sometimes he's *so* insensitive," she began. "I mean, he's always
picking fights with Ryouga, he calls me names, he insults my cooking, he
teases P-chan, he--"
"I'm sorry," Takeda interrupted. "P-chan?"
"Oh," Akane said sheepishly. "Sorry, I was just rambling, wasn't I.
P-chan is my little pet pig."
"When you said tease, do you mean he was cruel to your pet, does he
hurt it?"
"Sometimes," Akane said in a hushed tone. "Not seriously, I mean, but
he'll grab him roughly and throw him, or when he gets the bite he deserves,
sometimes he slaps him."
"I see," Takeda observed neutrally. "Can you think of any other
instances when Ranma might be cruel or hurtful to people?"
"He gets into a lot of fights," Akane admitted bitterly. "Usually when
one of his FIANCE�S visits, or when one of their boyfriends get mad at him
for hanging around their girls." Fires burned in her eyes as she said the
'f' word.
"Fiance�s?" Ozawa asked, rightly confused. "He has more than one?"
"Four, at last count. Some of it is his stupid father's fault, but if
he didn't want any of them, why doesn't he tell them to get lost?!"
Akane was starting to get visibly upset, and Takeda said nothing
until she composed herself.
"I'm sorry," she said lamely. "It's a sore subject."
"That's okay, Akane," Takeda said. "One last question about Ranma, and
it may be a little more personal than you might like. If you don't want to
answer, I'll understand. Four fiance�'s aside, would you say Ranma has any
sexual problems? I know he's a seventeen year old boy, but would you say his
sexuality was, say, abnormal?"
Akane thought for a long moment.
"I don't know what to say about that," she replied quietly. "I really
don't."
Takeda nodded. He took a fatherly tone with her. "Okay. That's fine,
Akane. I'd like to ask you a few questions about the body Ranma discovered.
Did you actually see the body?"
"Not really," she replied. "Ranma wouldn't let me. I guess he was
trying to protect me, but I don't need his help."
"Did you know the deceased?"
"No."
"How about the second girl, Nakazawa Miko?"
"No."
Takeda paused before asking the next question.
"How about Ogata Yuka?"
"What!?" Akane cried.
"I'm very sorry," Ozawa said to her. "Miss Ogata was found this
morning. Her condition was the same as the others."
"No..." Akane sobbed. Tears welled at the corners of her eyes. "Not
Yuka..."
"I know this is hard," Takeda began. "But can you tell me a little
about Yuka? This is important."
"I don't know," she sobbed. Her face was buried in her hands.
"How long did you know her?" Ozawa asked.
"We grew up together," Akane said, trying to keep from bawling. "Are
you sure it was Yuka? It's hard to tell after what happens to their faces,
isn't it?"
"We're sure about it," Takeda replied evenly. He tried a bit more
of that reassuring fatherly tone. "You can help us put this guy away,
Akane. I need you to be strong and answer our questions, for Yuka's sake,
and for sakes of the other two girls."
"Okay..."
"Did Yuka have any friends she didn't like people to know about? Was
she seeing someone her parents wouldn't approve of, like an older boyfriend
or something similar?"
"No."
"You're sure about this?" Ozawa pressed.
"I'm sure," Akane spat. "She talked about boys a lot, but she was
always too shy around anyone she liked."
"Did Yuka have a habit of staying out late?"
"Sometimes she did. The nights have been really nice these last few
weeks."
"Did she have any special place she liked to go when she wanted to
be alone?"
"The park," Akane said. Her face twisted into a mask of anguish. "Down
by the canal..."
Matsumoto nodded. "I know which park she's talking about."
Takeda continued.
"Did you ever feel like someone was watching you when you were with
Yuka out in town, or in school?"
"What?"
"Did it ever seem like someone was following you when you were with
Yuka?"
Akane thought. "Not really. I can't remember anything like that."
Takeda nodded. "That's all I have for now, Akane. Thank you for your
time. I'm very sorry about your friend, and I swear to you that I'll catch
the guy that hurt her."
"Thank you," Akane said quietly.
As they turned to leave, Ozawa offered her a business card with his
cellular phone number on it. He told her to give him a call in case she
remembered anything relevent to the case. They left the dojo with Akane
crying softly in the silence that followed.
"Now what?" Ozawa asked.
Takeda rubbed the back of his neck as they walked out to the car.
"It's going to be a long investigation..."
"Tell me something I don't know."
"I'm going to go back to the hotel and try to put some of this stuff
together. Matsumoto, see if you can get ahold of a list of prowler
complaints and curfew violations from the last eight weeks. By location if
you can. Iwase, what I need from you is a list of known and suspected
sex-offenders living within ten kilometers of the canal."
"No problem," Matsumoto replied.
"I can get my office working on it," Ozawa added. "What do you think
about Saotome?"
"The kid or the panda?"
Ozawa frowned. "The kid."
"I think he's really messed up."
"You want to add him to your list?"
"I can't think of any reason to just yet."
"No hunches?"
Takeda looked hard at Ozawa. "Spill it already."
"You don't think his situation is a little unusual? All those girls,
the fights, the abuse of the Tendo girl's pet?"
"Sure it is. But he's also a martial artist in a neighborhood full of
them, so his frequent fights don't seem to be much of a big deal. His
cruelty to animals strikes me with concern, but he also showed genuine
remorse at the news of Ogata Yuka's death."
"I was just thinking of how he spent that time alone with Hiroyuki's
body that morning..."
"Go on."
Ozawa looked at him and shrugged. "Suppose he did it. He dumped her,
expecting the canal to carry her far away from here. So the next morning
he's bopping along, and in a twisted irony of fate, he ends up landing in
the water next to his victim. He gets scared, and sends Akane away before
she can get a good look. While she's gone, he checks over the body real
quick to make sure he didn't leave any evidence, then waits for the cops
to come and gives his innocent story. Suppose his little previously
unmentioned detour to Doctor Tofu's clinic was his way of disposing of
whatever evidence he might have missed when he dumped her?"
Takeda wasn't convinced, but it did have him thinking. "It's a real
long shot, but it might be something."
-Seven-
Inspector Jiro Takeda sat in a less than comfortable chair next
to the small round table in his hotel room. Nerima wasn't exactly known
for its four-star accommodations, but he refused a better hotel elsewhere
in favor of staying close to the area. A uniformed policeman from Nerima
ward was stationed outside his room for protection as well as for fetching
sundries for him.
Doctor Ito's autopsy report sat before him on the table. Next to it
was a good map of Nerima ward. A listing of known and suspected sex-
offenders, their addresses and legal dispositions; and a list of prowler
complaints and curfew violations sat in a pile on the corner of the map.
Photographs of Kimiko, Miko, and Yuka provided by the high schools stared
at him from the table.
Like her sisters in death, Yuka died from a cervical dislocation that
severed her spinal cord, probably from a twisted neck as opposed to a blow
from behind. Aside from the gross post mortem injuries she had been
subjected to, she had very little in the way of marks upon her body. The
burn on her back was curious, and could be a valuable clue, but what
concerned Takeda more than anything was that there were no obvious signs
of a struggle at any time.
There were no bruises that couldn't be identified as occurring post
mortem. Her fingernails were neat and undamaged. No tissue was found
underneath them where she might have clawed desperately at her attacker.
Her arms and legs gave no sign of struggle, no sign that she was tied up
or confined in any way.
Whoever it was, the three girls had known him. Or at least trusted
him until the end. At least half of the vaginal scratches were caused when
the girls were alive. They must have liked the rough stuff, or at least
tolerated it in the hope that it would get better. Takeda made a note to
have someone check on any local fetish clubs to see if the girls were seen
there.
He made some scribbles on the map. One set of marks corresponded to
the places where the three girls lived. Another set showed where they went
to school. A third showed the last places they were seen alive. The last
showed the places along the canal where they were found. Each girl's marks
were given a different color. Three colors for three dead girls.
He studied the map, trying to decipher some sort of pattern. How was
the killer finding his victims? Where could he take them that was close
enough to the canal to dump them quickly? What routes were the least
traveled to avoid discovery? Was there a pattern, or was the killer being
cleverly and purposefully random?
Takeda reached over and unscrewed a bottle of Johnny Walker Red Label.
He poured four fingers into a glass of half-melted ice and drank it down in
one swallow, wincing at the taste as he always did. He poured another
drink and let it sit.
There was a knock at the door. Ozawa stepped in after a moment's
pause. He set his attach� on the dresser next to the door and sat down on
the closer of the two futons.
Ozawa pointed to the bottle.
"Sure that's a good idea?"
Takeda scowled and held up the three autopsy photographs.
"How do *you* get to sleep after seeing one of these?"
Ozawa shrugged. "Usually I do calisthenics until I can barely move.
The pain keeps me from thinking about it."
Takeda raised his glass and took a gulp. "You kill yourself your way,
and I'll kill myself my way."
Ozawa smiled wanly. "Learn anything new?"
"I'm trying to come up with some kind of pattern," Takeda replied.
"So far I haven't got a goddamn thing."
"You read Ito's report yet?"
"Yeah. The lack of a struggle really puts the hook in me, but if we
can make the connection with how this guy picks up his victims, we can
nail the bastard."
"I made arrangements to have the funeral service under covert
surveillance," Ozawa said as he stretched out on the futon. "We'll have the
family go over the surveillance tapes afterwards and look for people they
don't recognize. You never know, our man may show up."
"It's happened before," Takeda agreed. "With Yakuza hits, mostly."
"Sometimes I wonder how much different a Yakuza contract killer is
from a serial killer. A lot of those guys don't do it for money. I don't
believe in the honor theory either. Most of them don't have any."
"This guy has a different motivation," Takeda said wearily. He took
another drink. "In that morgue I could feel the hate. The loathing of all
things female. He's pathological."
"I wonder what does that to a guy? He can't be very stable to begin
with."
Takeda leaned back in his chair and stared at the lamplight through
the whiskey in his glass.
"Probably not. It's like Dosaka said: childhood abuse from the mother,
maybe older sisters or a grandmother. The kid grows up an introvert, ends
up rejected by women in high school, college, at work. Then something snaps.
He lashes back at the people who've hurt him, or at least people like the
ones who hurt him.
"He kills. Maybe he's surprised at first at what he's done, maybe he's
a little scared. Then he realizes that he likes it, that it feels good to
have that kind of power over women. He wants more of it. He kills again.
It's better this time without the fear or surprise. He can savor it more.
He really likes it now. He kills again, with less delay between victims
this time, because he wants the ego reward it gives him so badly."
Takeda looked down at the map of Nerima.
"Fuck me running..."
"Pardon me?" Ozawa said, sitting up. He looked at the Inspector, who
was staring intently at the map, his lips working slightly as he talked to
himself. "What is it, Jiro?"
"That's it," Takeda breathed. "His period is speeding up because he
isn't going as far to find them each time. He doesn't want to go as far
out of the way or take as much trouble to find them. He wants the next kill
too badly to wait as long."
"Where are you going with this?"
Takeda held up the map for him and began pointing to the colored marks.
"I'm guessing he lives somewhere in this two kilometer radius here," he
said, pointing to a spot in the southwest corner. "There are plenty of
apartments and family homes here, so he has a place of refuge and a good
supply of victims. Each victim gets closer to this area, even as the
period between them decreases. I'm guessing that if he kills again before
we bust his ass, floater number four will be even closer to this area than
number three, and will happen within a week from now."
"Shit," Ozawa said quietly. "On the one hand I hope you're wrong, but
on the other hand you may just have something big here."
Takeda took another drink from the whiskey glass. He was starting
to feel the booze, but the effects weren't pleasant. His mind was loosening
up, and he was starting to see the appeal of his theory from the killer's
point of view. It sickened him.
"I want an eight o'clock curfew imposed on any kid under nineteen,"
he said tersely. "A general curfew of ten o'clock for everyone else.
Visible police presence in the parks and along the canal."
Ozawa frowned. "Why?"
Takeda grunted. "I want to cut off this prick's supply of easy
victims. He's going to kill -barring a miracle, I don't think we can stop
him before he tries again. I just want to make it hard on him. He'll get
desperate; he won't be as careful, he may even fuck up. That way we get
him before he can do number four, or at least he leaves us some evidence we
can use to finger him."
Ozawa shook his head. "That might not be such a good idea."
"Why the hell not?"
"No-one wants a panic. A curfew would do just that. People who don't
ask questions will start. When the police can't give them the answers they
want, they'll call the media."
Takeda felt stomach acid rise in his throat. "Screw the media, we're
talking about people's lives!"
"And what happens when everyone is jumping at shadows? A husband comes
home late and drunk, and gets his head smashed in by a frightened wife with
a lamp. How many panicked calls to report prowlers do you think we'll get?
There's no way we can respond to all of them. How can we prioritize
something like that? We can't have a police state here in Nerima no matter
how much it might help our chances to prevent another murder."
Takeda growled to himself. As much as he hated it, Ozawa had a point.
"At least get me some SWAT surveillance of that park the Tendo
girl mentioned. Low-light stuff, snipers, something. He might go back there;
it's not too far from the canal, and it seems like a good spot to search for
likely victims. He's got to be scouting out his quarry, or he'd be doing
this more often."
Ozawa agreed. "I think so too. I can get a squad of SWAT from the
Commissioner, but I can't keep them there every night. They have other
obligations, other commitments. A hostage situation comes up in metro Tokyo,
and they're out of there faster than you can blink."
"Just three nights," Takeda said. "Maybe four. I want regular police
surveillance of the canal, too. If we can catch this guy scouting, we might
be able to detain him long enough for him to slip up and say something
stupid. Maybe we catch something on him that'll give us probable cause to
search his place and come up with what we need to put him away. Anything."
"Shit, Jiro," Ozawa said softly. "Are we that desperate?"
Takeda swallowed the last of the whiskey. "I know it's the first day
since I took this case," he began slowly. "But I've never started so far
in the hole before. We've got nothing solid and only the most tenuous
of suspect lists."
He waved his hands at the files on the table.
"All we actually have is this: he's really strong, he likes teenaged
girls, and he has no problem with ripping them up with his bare hands. He
dumps them in a canal when he's done with them, and leaves hardly a trace
of evidence at his dumping sites. We know his period is getting shorter,
and we think we know why. We know his victims don't put up a struggle,
so we assume that they either know him or trust him enough to follow him
to wherever it is that he kills them -if it's even the same place. We think
he lives with other people around, but we aren't sure. We think he uses
lime to conceal the serum evidence he leaves behind when he rips them up
-and *that* probably only to kill the smell since he doesn't bury them."
Ozawa nodded at each point. "So what do we need the most?" he
prompted.
"Catching the cocksucker in the act," Takeda replied gruffly. "Taking
a girl, killing a girl, or dumping her, so long as we got him while he was
busy. Other than that, we don't have shit for a connection between our man
and the three floaters. I'd love to find that out. If we can get that, we
probably have the bastard."
"If it means anything," Ozawa said to him. "We have more to go on
since you started than in the last six weeks. We're going to catch this
guy."
He got up from the futon to pull a file out of his attach�. "I did
some research on Saotome Ranma." He set the file down on the table.
"Interesting reading."
Takeda set his empty glass down. "You've got a real hard-on for
Saotome."
"Call it a hunch," Ozawa offered. "Like you and that cutey, Konatsu."
Takeda looked through the file.
"His school transcripts?"
"Look at them closely."
Takeda did so. After some time a low whistle escaped his lips. "Kid
gets around. It's a wonder he's even in the grade level he's in now with
all the missed time and jumping around. He rates fairly intelligent on
the achievement tests, but he gets lousy regular marks. Just enough to get
by. His best subject is Physical Education. Not college bound, most likely."
"Keep going," Ozawa said.
"A serious discipline problem," Takeda observed. "Fights, destruction
of property, tresspassing. His most recent schoolmaster even brought in a
tough reform school teacher to take care of him exclusively. No indication
that it worked from what I can read here. He's a tough one."
"There's more," Ozawa told him.
Takeda kept reading.
"Lives with his father. His mother is listed as alive, but living in
another ward. His parents aren't separated. His father has been registering
him in every school since he was four. No siblings. No contact with close
relations other than his father."
"His father's just as bad," Ozawa declared. "He hasn't filed an
income tax return in ten years, and hasn't worked a steady job in almost
twenty. He did a brief stint in the merchant marine before jumping ship
in Nagasaki. Everything the family has is in his wife's name, and they've
been living apart for ten years, so they won't come after her for his tax
evasion."
Takeda shook his head. "It sounds like a rotten way to grow up, but I
just can't shake the sight of him when we told him Ogata Yuka was dead. He
was really broken up, and he didn't even claim to know her that well. That
doesn't mesh with our killer profile."
"Look, I'm not saying this is our man with absolute certainty," Ozawa
said crisply. "I'm just saying that I've got a hunch with him, and it just
so happens that he's got the kind of background to spawn a killer... He
could be a great actor for all we know."
"I'm still not convinced," Takeda replied.
-Eight-
"One-Six, One-One; status report," the radio crackled. Inspector
Takeda sat inside an air-conditioned minivan loaded with communications
and surveillance equipment. Ozawa occupied a seat next to him. The SWAT
team commander and a technician looked over a bank of monochrome monitors
tied to low-light scopes and infrared television cameras. This was their
third and last night on stakeout, and so far they had nothing.
"One-One, One-Six; all clear."
"Copy that, One-Six."
Takeda nudged closer to the speaker.
"I know that kid; One-Six," he remarked.
"That's Ohata Ichiro," the SWAT team commander replied. "Good kid, a
steady hand behind the trigger."
"How old is he?" Ozawa asked.
"Just turned twenty," the commander told them. "Already won the
National Police rifle competition. Made a good show in the States in the
Wimbledon Cup competition; he was a finalist in the thousand yard rifle
shoot. A goddamn natural, he never picked up a weapon before he joined
the force -not even one of those airsoft replicas that are so popular."
"A sniper?" Takeda asked. "I remember him as an entry man during a
drug raid on a Triad warehouse."
"Yeah, he's a good marksman, but he doesn't have the sniper mentality.
Not patient enough. His heart's in down and dirty gunfighting. I've got him
with Fuyushio down by the playground doing a perimeter sweep."
"What's he carrying?" Takeda asked. "If we catch this guy in the act
tonight, I don't want Ichiro blowing him away if he can help it."
The SWAT commander took a drink of coffee. "Like I said, Ohata is a
steady hand behind behind the trigger. That's why he's got the shotgun."
"Shotgun?" Ozawa asked.
"The first shell is a flex-baton. Ohata doesn't miss within thirty
yards. Our guy gets hit, he goes down and stays down -but he won't die,
he'll just wish he was dead."
Takeda seemed satisfied with that. He turned to Ozawa.
"How did the funeral surveillance go?"
Ozawa shook his head. "Not so great. A few kids that turned up as
unknowns at the funeral were students at Furinkan. Nothing we could work
with. He must not like to gloat."
"I think he considers them trash," Takeda said at length. "He uses
them, and then dumps them when he's done with them. He wouldn't care less
about them after he's done."
"We had to try," Ozawa sighed. "You never know."
"Come up with anything else on your Saotome hunt?"
"Nothing new on the administrative side," Ozawa admitted. "The paper
trail ended with that file I had you read. How about you?"
"It turns out that Nagazawa Miko was a member of the St. Hebereke
School gymnastics team."
"I don't remember a Catholic funeral service."
"She wasn't Catholic. Her parents sent her there for the education.
Anyway, I'm going to go visit her team captain first thing in the morning.
Kuno Kodachi. She was the last person on record to see Miko alive."
"Good luck to you," Ozawa said. "Matsumoto's boys went there two
weeks ago to talk. She's a strange one. They didn't get a damn thing
from her."
"I have nothing against Matsumoto, but his previous murder experience
has been one open and shut case with a signed confession. He's never had
to ask the right kind of questions. He worked robbery his first tour off
the beat, followed by a good eight years with public affairs. He got the
Homicide slot by dint of his tenure on the force."
The radio crackled.
"Control, One-Six; we've got something going on here."
The SWAT team commander leaned forward in his seat. "Copy, One-Six;
position check."
"Five-zero meters north of your position. There's a grove of trees
between us, but you might get something on IR."
The technician began fiddling with one of the IR cameras. A fuzzy
grey-scale image on the monitor revealed nothing discernable.
"Status?"
"Two people: one male, one female, sounds like a scuffle. About
seventy meters northeast your position. Moving to intercept."
Takeda checked his rod, a Colt Python in .357 Magnum. Ozawa packed a
small Sig P-239 chambered for .40 S&W. The SWAT commander keyed his mike.
"Identify your targets," he reminded them tersely.
There was the sound of rapid breathing, of boots suddenly crunching
on gravel that Takeda knew was the footpath that cut through the park,
followed by an indeterminate shout.
"They're breaking for it! Suspects running south!" a voice, possibly
Ohata's, shouted in his mike. The running sounds picked up the pace.
"All units converge on One-Six's position!" The SWAT commander barked.
"Check your zones, watch for a crossfire situation!"
The sound of a dozen SWAT troops running at full tilt and calling
out their positions echoed over the speakers. Fuzzy grey blobs dashed
through the cameras' fields of view.
"Heading towards your position, Central!" Ohata cried. "--POLICE
OFFICERS!!! FREEZE!!!"
A loud gunshot roared over the speaker. More SWAT troops called out
postions to prevent an accidental friendly fire shooting.
Takeda and Ozawa were already opening the side door of the van.
"Man down! Man down! One man down!" Ohata cried.
"Cease fire!" another, Fuyushio, shouted.
"Don't move!!!" another voice roared. "Don't you fucking move! Keep
your hands where I can see them!"
"One-Six clear!"
"One-One clear!"
"One-Five clear!"
"I said don't fucking move, asshole!"
When Takeda and Ozawa reached the scene, not forty meters from the
van and just on the other side of the copse, Ohata and Fuyushio were
covering a man, dressed like a woman, who stood on his knees in the grass.
Another person, dressed in black, was lying on his back and moaning.
Both hands clutched at his chest. The other SWAT troops fanned out to
secure the area. The smell of cordite was strong in the still air.
Takeda shined his flashlight in the kneeling man's face. He was
rather effeminate looking, but the torn sailor fuku he wore revealed an
smooth but deep male chest. The padded bra had slipped down where his fuku
had been cut by a sharp object. Takeda didn't know him by sight.
"Hey, Jiro," Ozawa called to him. "Get a load of this."
Takeda turned to see the person Ozawa was looking at. The person who
was lying on the ground wore the garb of a ninja. Possibly a Kunoichi
considering that the person looked like a girl. He looked closer.
"Konatsu," Takeda said quietly.
"I had to use the flex baton, sir," Ohata said abruptly. "She was
going for a weapon."
"You did the right thing," Takeda told him. He looked down at Konatsu.
"What's going on, 'miss'?"
Konatsu looked up at him in obvious discomfort. "This isn't what you
think," he gasped, voice still effeminate despite the pain.
"Oh really?" Takeda asked. "What do I think, then?"
Konatsu winced and turned his head away.
Takeda looked to Fuyushio. "When the regular police get here, I want
this one," he pointed to the man in the fuku. "I want him locked up for
questioning under suspicion of murder." He pointed to Konatsu. "When this
one clears the doctors at the hospital, I want him locked up in a separate
cell for felony assault on a policeman. Keep them separated." He took Fuyushio
aside. "And pass on to the officer who takes them in for booking to keep them
awake. I don't care what he has to do; they get zero rest. I find out
otherwise, whoever it is will be handing out parking tickets with the meter
maids."
He walked away. Ozawa joined him.
"What's up?" Ozawa asked.
"What do you mean?"
"You don't think this is cut and dried, do you?"
"We'll find out when we question them. I'm going to get some coffee.
It's going to be a long night."
"You think we can really hold them on anything?"
"Konatsu for felony assault on a police officer. Maybe a weapons charge.
We can probably come up with something on the other one. We'll have to lean
on them pretty hard, because I don't think even the felony assault charge
will stand up for long. In the dark, in the heat of the chase, Ohata can be
argued to have seen something that didn't happen."
-Nine-
The interrogation room was a small, starkly bleak room done in roughly
formed cement, with little in the way of comfort for both police and
accused. A chair was bolted down to the floor before a small table which
was also bolted down. Several others were set up loose in the corner. A small
closed circuit TV camera peeked from the corner of the room facing away from
the single windowless door. A microphone boom hung on a breakaway plug from
the center of the ceiling. Fluorescent lights cast their greenish white glow
upon the bare cement surfaces.
The mystery cross-dresser, identified as Kurenai Tsubasa, originally of
Osaka, was the first person led into the room. Behind him was a burly police
sergeant who took full advantage of the bulk granted him by his half-Korean
father to shove Tsubasa into the chair. A pitiless look from the cop told
Tsubasa that if he valued his pretty face, he had best sit still.
Takeda let Tsubasa sit for thirty minutes before entering the room with
Ozawa, Matsumoto, and one of Matsumoto's other detectives. Takeda had waived
the court clerk in favor of the recording devices. This was to be an informal
questioning anyway -unless they turned up something interesting, in which
case the court clerk was immediately available.
They were playing dirty pool by questioning him without his attorney -in
this case a public defender because Tsubasa was an indigent. Takeda didn't
care, Tsubasa was informed of his rights when he was booked. He could refuse
to answer questions if he chose. Takeda doubted the kid would be able to think
very clearly, having been kept up until three in the morning. The Inspector
had availed himself to a short nap before the questioning.
"Let's start from the beginning, shall we?" he began. Tsubasa gave him a
defiant look. "Your name for the record?"
"Kurenai Tsubasa," he said quietly.
"A little louder, if you please," Ozawa said sternly.
"KURENAI TSUBASA."
Takeda gave him a patronizing smile. "Kid, I don't think you understand
your present situation. You are only a phone call away from indictment on
three counts of first degree murder. I've got the Attorney General's office
for the whole goddamn prefecture standing by with a grand jury just waiting
for your sweet little ass to step up. That's going to make whatever they've
got you booked for right now look like an overdue library book."
"I never killed anyone," Tsubasa said dully.
"Yeah?" Takeda replied. "I'm glad to hear it. You might even be telling
the truth. Not that it will matter while you rot for a few months in a two
meter by three meter cell, with minimal contact with the outside world, and
plenty of real criminals to keep you company at night, while the lawyers sort
out your case."
He looked hard at Tsubasa. "I *will* do that to you if I don't get some
polite cooperation..."
Tsubasa looked at him, eyes trembling with both anger and dread. Anger
because he knew he was being railroaded, and dread because Takeda looked the
kind of person who would enjoy making good on his threat. He yawned, the
bastards had played loud obnoxious music outside his holding cell all night.
"What do you want to know?" he said in a sullen voice.
"Better," Takeda said. "According to your statement to the booking
sergeant, you live in and out of a homeless shelter. Is this true?"
"Yeah," Tsubasa replied. "It's a dump, but it's free."
Takeda nodded. "You also said you're seventeen."
"Yeah."
"How long have you been away from home?"
Tsubasa looked at the table. "About six months."
"Your parents?"
"I don't have any parents."
Takeda took a sip of coffee. "Orphan?"
Tsubasa looked straight at him. There was only bitterness in his eyes.
"Disowned."
"Is it because of your dressing habits?" Takeda asked, pointing to
the torn fuku Kurenai wore.
"That's part of it."
"Tell me the other part."
Tsubasa grit his teeth. "There was someone I loved. My parents didn't
approve."
"Who?"
Tsubasa looked up to the ceiling.
"I'm not going to say. She's been hurt enough, I don't want you giving
her a hard time."
"Why would I give her a hard time?" Takeda asked. "Is there something I
should know?"
"No," he grunted. "You can lock me up, but I won't say her name."
The Inspector sensed his willingness to suffer just that for the girl's
sake.
"Fair enough. How about telling me what you were doing in the park
tonight."
"I was looking for someone."
"Who?"
"The cross-dresser working at the Ucchan." Takeda could sense the hate
behind Tsubasa's words.
"Konatsu?"
Tsubasa nodded.
"Why?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
Takeda frowned. "I insist."
Tsubasa shook his head.
"Don't piss me off, Mister Kurenai," Takeda warned. "I'm not a man who
likes getting his chain pulled."
"What do you think you're doing to me!?" Tsubasa shrieked. He began to
shudder with sobs. His hands came up to cover his face, blurring the running
mascara even more.
"I don't give a shit," Takeda retorted. "You know what I think? I think
you had a thing for Konatsu, and when you found out he wasn't into guys, you
got pissed at him and tried to rape him." It was unsubstantiated baiting, but
it might get him to spill what Takeda wanted to know.
"Fuck you!" he said bitterly from behind his hands. "I'm not into guys!
I thought your piss-ant little brain could figure that out when I said I was
in love with a girl!"
Takeda watched him sob for a few minutes before turning to the police
sergeant. "Take him back to his cell. Bring in the other one."
"That's all you're going to ask?" Ozawa asked in whisper.
"I don't think he knows what I want to know, and what little he does
know, he won't talk about," Takeda replied quietly. "I think Konatsu wants
to talk, so I'll give him a chance. If he comes up with something interesting,
I'll pull Kurenai back in here."
-Ten-
"Raaaaannnnnnnn---maaaaaaaaa!!!" Akane called to the open air of the
night. There was no reply.
"Honestly," she said to herself. "He goes and give me this huge lecture
about not going out at night with a killer on the loose, and then he up and
disappears!"
She was about to head back inside the house when she heard a familiar
purring sound. She looked up to see Ranma-chan pounce upon her. She was
knocked roughly to the ground, with Ranma sitting in her lap, licking the
back of her hand.
"Ouch! That really hurt, you stupid jerk!" she protested. Then she
realized that he was acting like a cat.
"Oh, Ranma," she said, halfway between concerned and annoyed. "Not
again... What's with you? This is the third time this week!"
She began to scratch her behind the ears, causing her to purr even
louder, and stretch out in her lap.
"You'd think a great martial artist would be able to stay away from
a few cats."
Ranma-chan meowed softly, and went to sleep.
END OF PART TWO
