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

                               STIGMA
                             Part Three

                     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.
_______________________________________________________________________



                            -Eleven-



     Konatsu Kenzan had no trouble keeping his eyes open in the presence 
of a policeman with no qualms about slapping him across the face. His 
lower lip was swollen where the burly sergeant had struck him for no other 
reason than his perceived arrogance. He tried to keep his gaze focused 
straight ahead, towards the heavy windowless door to the interrogation 
room, and away from the man he so deeply despised.
     Inspector Takeda entered with Ozawa and Matsumoto. The inspector's 
fatigue was starting to show despite the nap he had recently enjoyed. 
Konatsu hoped this was a good sign. If not, the inspector's fatigue would 
mean a loss of patience -with a severe beating to follow.
     "I'm not sure if I'm surprised to see you here," Takeda told him.
     "Pardon?" Konatsu asked.
     "Kurenai's interview was most interesting," he said, ignoring the 
remark from the kunoichi. "I'd like to hear your version of what happened 
in the park tonight. You said that what happened wasn't what I thought it 
was. I'd like you to explain that statement."
     Konatsu swallowed hard, giving himself a moment to compose an answer.
     "I wasn't looking for girls," he said evenly. Before Takeda could 
interrupt, he continued with "I know you think I'm the killer, but I'm not."
     Takeda smiled indulgently. "Why would I think that you're the killer?"
     The kunoichi made an exasperated face. "I don't know what you said to 
dear Ukyo-sama, but she's been having as little to do with me as possible 
ever since you came into the shop." He shuddered slightly, and his eyes 
trembled. "When she does look at me, there is fear in her eyes. Fear and... 
revulsion." 
     He choked back a sob at the thought.
     "I'm not a killer!" he cried aloud. His voice was high and shrill, 
like the voice of a young girl. The effects of a lifetime of conditioning 
to the feminine still held sway over the effects of puberty. The sergeant 
moved to slap him, but Takeda shook his head at the man, and he stopped 
short.
     "Explain to me what you were doing in the park," the inspector said 
firmly. "I'll be the judge of your motives."
     "I was *looking* for the killer," Konatsu explained. "If I could catch 
him, Ukyo-sama would know that I wasn't responsible for those terrible 
things. She wouldn't hate me anymore. She wouldn't fear me."
     The kunoichi looked at Takeda with desperate eyes.
     "You don't know how much even her smile means to me," he said softly.
     Takeda seemed unmoved.
     "Explain to me why you picked the park, of all the places you could 
have looked."
     Konatsu sucked in a gasp of air as if he were drowning. "It was close 
to the canal. I thought the killer wouldn't want to walk too far after he, 
you know... finished."
     Takeda took a drink of coffee.
     "You expect me to believe that?"
     Konatsu nodded sullenly. "It's the truth."
     "As you want me to see it, Konatsu. Now tell me why you think the 
killer is walking to the canal after he kills."
     Konatsu shrugged. "How many people in Nerima own a car?"
     "Not many," Takeda admitted. He took another drink of coffee. "Where 
were you on the night of the fifteenth of June?"
     "At the Ucchan," the kunoichi replied softly.
     "All night?"
     "Yes."
     Takeda wrote that down. "Now how about the thirteenth of July?"
     "I was also at the Ucchan. All night."
     Takeda sighed. "How about the twenty-seventh of July?"
     "The same."
     "You don't ever go out at night?" Ozawa asked.
     "Not often," Konatsu replied.
     "That's convenient," Takeda snorted.
     "Is there anyone who can verify your presence at the Ucchan on these 
three nights?" Ozawa asked.
     "Kuonji Ukyo," Konatsu said evenly.
     "We'll be sure to check your alibi with her," Takeda noted for him. 
"Now tell me why Kurenai Tsubasa was trying to fight you tonight."
     The kunoichi sighed. "He thinks I've stolen Ukyo-sama from him," he 
snorted sadly. "As if she was ever mine..."
     Takeda nodded. He had a feeling that Kuonji Ukyo was the girl Tsubasa 
was trying to protect. The question was, why did she need protecting? What 
was she hiding?
     "How long have you really known Kuonji Ukyo?"
     "I told you before, just a few months."
     "I think you're lying," Takeda replied. "You've got no Tokyo in your 
voice. You're from out of town, the same as her. You're a cross-dresser, and 
even more than that I think you've been raised as a girl your entire life. 
Now why would Kuonji take you in, and give you a job, and try to protect 
you from an investigation by vouching for your conduct if there wasn't 
something else between you?"
     "I-- I don't know," Konatsu spluttered. "Could it be that she's just a 
good person? That she has love and kindness and understanding in her heart? 
Is that so hard for you to believe, Inspector?"
     "I believe what the facts tell me," Takeda responded coldly. "Right 
now they're telling me that you're hiding something about her."
     Konatsu looked up at him from his chair, his eyes shining with unshed 
tears. "You must have a very empty life then, Inspector."
     Takeda took another sip of coffee.
     "You'll probably beat the felony assault rap," he said evenly. "The 
judges in Nerima are pretty liberal, even with the mayhem that's going on. 
That leaves you with a misdemeanor weapons charge for the shuriken and 
whatnot -assuming Kurenai doesn't want to press an aggravated assault 
charge on you. The odds are good that you'll be out of here on bond in a 
week. I want you to remember that I'll be watching you, Konatsu. And I'll 
be watching your benefactor too."
     Konatsu closed his eyes and was silent.



                              -Twelve-



     The Kuno Estate was the last trappings of a once great and noble house. 
The estate was a simple affair, large and luxurious by Nerima standards, but 
little more than that. The decline of House Kuno had been over a century in 
the making, starting with the Meiji Restoration, and continuing a slow and 
torturous fall as they clung blindly to the old ways. Japan pulled itself 
out of agrarian despotism and into an industrial age ruled by businessmen 
-not bushido. The glory of the East Asian Co-Prosperity Sphere infused a 
brief life into the martial Kunos, only to have it quashed with the defeat 
of Imperial Japan at the hands of America at the end of World War Two. 
Most of those who had not died in battle took their own lives in the shame 
of their defeat. Most of those who had not slain themselves in despair had 
faded and died within a decade.
     The patriarch of House Kuno was rumored to be hopelessly insane, and 
even worse for such a noble line of samurai, shamed into a career as a lowly 
civil servant administering to Furinkan High School. His wife was long dead, 
and he had forsaken the very essence of his family's remaining renown by his 
foreswearance of the sword. All that remained to carry on the name and 
tradition of the line were a brother and sister both lost in delusions of 
grandeur and the glories of a bygone age. 
     All this and more Takeda saw in the grounds of the compound. There was 
an air of silent desperation hanging gravidly over the place as he and Ozawa 
stepped through the gate the family manservant had opened for them. The 
diminutive man was dressed as a ninja. He had prominent buckteeth, a shrill 
breathy voice, and almost feline whiskers.
     "Mistress Kodachi awaits you in the solarium," he said to them.
     "You'll show us where that is, correct?" Ozawa asked.
     "Yes, sir," Sasuke replied gently.
     The ninja led them through a foyer and into a spacious receiving room. 
Why Kodachi had not chosen to greet them there was unknown, it certainly 
seemed like a comfortable place to talk. They turned down a long hallway 
after removing their shoes, and stepped into a large chamber lined in glass, 
and with a high ceiling, also in glass. Many varieties of plant life 
surrounded them in vases, bowls, pots, and planters. The floor was pine, 
spotlessly clean, waxed until it glowed, and with a square hole cut out of 
the center of the chamber to accommidate a small coconut palm.
     A young woman of about seventeen stood at the far end of the chamber, 
facing out over a garden beyond the glass walls. She wore a snug-fitting 
black leotard that accentuated her firm bottom and snowy white skin. Her 
hair was long and full, and tied into a pony-tail that fell over an 
exquisitely rounded shoulder. A rose dangled loosely in her left hand 
between arched fingers that seemed to have been arranged precisely for 
a demonstration of her comely grace. Takeda noted that both her hair and 
the rose were a matching black with her leotard.
     "Mistress Kodachi, Inspector Takeda Jiro and Detective Lieutenant Ozawa 
Iwase of the Tokyo Prefectural Police are here to see you," the ninja 
announced formally.
     "Leave us," Kodachi said absently, still looking out over the garden. 
"But don't forget to fetch the tea."
     "Of course, mistress," Sasuke murmured. "As you wish."
     When the ninja left them, Kodachi turned around to look at her callers.
To Takeda, the young woman was possessed of a terrible beauty, one that was 
more befitting of an Imperial princess -haughty, regal, and aloof- than the 
soft and demure salarymens' daughters of modern Japan. Her eyes were chips 
of hard obsidian, flickering with dark fire and a calculating, possibly even 
malicious, intent.
     "Good morning, officers," she greeted with an almost mocking warmth. 
"What brings you to the home of Kuno Kodachi?"
     "I'd like to ask you a few questions about the death of Nakazawa Miko," 
Takeda replied.
     "Tragic, wasn't it?" Kodachi remarked. She might as well have been 
talking about a neighbor's gerbil for all of the feeling behind her words.
     "We'd like to see her killer caught and punished for his crimes," 
Takeda said in return. "Your cooperation may prove crucial to seeing that 
come to pass."
     "Of course, officer," Kodachi demurred. The effect wasn't wholly 
convincing. "I'd like to help in whatever capacity I can."
     "I'm glad to hear that." He consulted the notes he had composed in the 
small hours after his interrogation of Konatsu. "I'm told that you knew the 
victim well. That you were her captain on the St. Hebereke High School 
Rhthymic Gymnastics team. Is this correct?"
     Kodachi pursed her lips before responding. "Quite so, Inspector."
     "I'm also told that you were the last person to see Miko alive."
     "Other than the killer?" she asked teasingly.
     Takeda cleared his throat. "Yes. Other than the killer," he said. 
"I'd like you to tell me about that last encounter."
     "What's there to talk about?" Kodachi asked, sniffing the black rose 
in her hand. 
     "For instance," Takeda supplied. "Where were you at the time?"
     "The school gym," she answered. "It was the end of practice."
     "That was," Takeda checked his notes, "Approximately nine o'clock at 
night?"
     Kodachi smiled thinly. "Correct."
     "Was there anyone else with the two of you?"
     "No. It was Miko's turn to clean up after practice. I was about to 
leave."
     "I see," Takeda grunted. "So she was alone in the gymnasium after you 
left?"
     "I suppose so," Kodachi replied. "I wouldn't know for certain."
     "Hmmm..." he murmured. "Was Miko involved with anyone she might have 
been unwilling to talk about openly? Someone outside the school, an older 
boyfriend perhaps?"
     "I do not mingle socially with students junior to me," she replied 
coldly. "Whether she was with someone or not, I neither know nor care." She 
brushed at her hair with her right hand. "Although I don't remember any 
boyfriends at the funeral," she added. "In a school for girls, any boys 
have to come from the outside." This last was almost a lament.
     "So you were at the funeral?"
     "Yes," she sniffed arrogantly. "As Team Captain it was my sad duty."
     Takeda made a few notes. "What can you tell me about a person named 
Konatsu Kenzan?"
     Kodachi made an absent shrug of her shoulders. "Very little. I believe 
he still works at that spatula wielding manipulator's okonomiyaki shop."
     "So you know that Konatsu is a cross-dresser?" Ozawa asked.
     Kodachi gave him a patronizing smile. "Detective Ozawa, there are a 
great many things that I know about Nerima." She waved her rose in the air. 
"For example, that okonomiyaki shop is a haven for the gender-challenged."
     "Oh?" Takeda asked. "Go on."
     "It isn't difficult," Kodachi sniffed. "When even that little witch 
Kuonji goes around in drag from time to time. The freaks are just drawn to 
the place, I suppose."
     "Kuonji Ukyo, you mean," Takeda said, curiosity piqued.
     "Quite so, I'm afraid. The poor misguided thing spent ten years 
pretending to be a boy after Ranma gave her the heave-ho." She smiled. "Ah, 
even then my darling Ranma could see her for the desperate grasping harridan 
she is."
     "Your darling Ranma?" Ozawa asked. "Saotome Ranma, perhaps?"
     "Oh yes," she gushed dreamily. "A god among men, more than any woman 
could ever dream of in a mate."
     "I didn't realize that you and Saotome Ranma were so close," Takeda 
observed.
     Kodachi's rapture faded, but only for a moment. "We are destined 
lovers," she told them in all seriousness. "Those other hussies can only 
drive him into my arms."
     Takeda coughed into his hand. "Of course." He scribbled some more 
notes. "How about Kurenai Tsubasa?"
     The gymnast made a dismissive wave of her hand. "Another one of 
Kuonji's pathetic suitors." She chuckled lightly, restraining herself from 
the bubbling riotous laughter that always threatened to erupt from such 
humble beginnings. "Although he would be right at home with someone as 
twisted as Kuonji." She smiled. "I really do pity the poor girl... She's 
not in her right mind, you know."
     "Always a possibility," Takeda said, trying to keep the conversation 
moving in the desired direction. "How about a person named Ryouga? -I don't 
have a surname available at the moment." He had picked up the name from his 
interview with Akane, and given Kodachi's apparent feelings towards Ranma, 
he was unwilling to ask her more about the pig-tailed boy.
     Kodachi fanned her breasts and throat with her hand.
     "The handsome Hibiki Ryouga," she began, her face flushed. "He's 
rugged in a peasant sort of way..." She seemed to get even more steamed up. 
"...LOTS of rippling muscles..." Her eyes started to roll back in her head 
as if at the thought of that yummy side of beefcake lying on top of her, 
when her ardor faded suddenly. "...But he's as sharp as a ping-pong ball, 
and has a personality closer to a wild boar... He's obsessed with that 
wicked little pretender, Tendo Akane, you know. They'd make a lovely couple, 
I'm sure."
     Takeda jotted this down. "Do you happen to know where this Hibiki 
Ryouga lives?"
     "Another ward, I think. He wanders aimlessly a lot, but when you have 
a brain the size of a cherry pit, you make do however you can, I expect. 
I'd be careful with that one, he has quite a temper."
     Sasuke interrupted them with the tea. He set the tray on a low table 
next to the coconut palm, and left without a word. Kodachi knelt behind the 
table, and was joined by Takeda and Ozawa.
     "Forgive my servant," she sniffed after they were served. "He makes up 
in loyalty what he lacks in decorum." She sipped delicately at her tea.
     "Is there anything you can think of that might help with the 
investigation?" Takeda asked.
     Kodachi chuckled behind her hand.
     "If I were you," she began, "I would visit the Cat Cafe and start 
asking questions. You never know what those puerile Amazons might be up to."
     "They've caused trouble before?" Ozawa asked. He seemed to recall 
something in Matsumoto's investigation concerning the Cat Cafe, but he 
couldn't remember what it was.
     "When haven't they," Kodachi remarked. "The old witch is bad enough 
with her plots against my darling Ranma, but when you add that purple-haired 
whore, Shampoo, and her sniveling lapdog, Mousse, it's a wonder there 
haven't been *more* bodies turning up in canals."
     Takeda nodded graciously.
     "One last question, Miss Kuno," Takeda blurted. "I've just remembered 
it."
     "Of course, Inspector."
     Takeda searched for just the right words before he began.
     "I've been hearing from other students and faculty at St. Hebereke that 
Nakazawa Miko was considered a favorite to depose you as team captain. More 
than one person asked me if you were being considered a suspect because of 
that notion." A lie, but a potentially useful one.
     Kodachi's face twisted ever so slightly. Her eyes began to burn with 
hatred. She remained silent.
     "I had to tell them that in all truth I have no hard evidence that 
would link you to the killing," Takeda continued. "Any comments?"
     "Ludicrous," she spat quietly. "Absolutely ludicrous. I wouldn't waste 
my time with the wagging of jealous tongues. Nakazawa Miko was a clumsy, 
artless cow, nothing more."
     Takeda smiled briefly and bowed to her.
     "Thank you for your time and the tea," he said. "You've been most 
informative."
     "The pleasure was all mine," she demurred coldly. There was a savage 
look in her eyes as she called for Sasuke to show them out.


     Takeda and Ozawa took their leave of her. As they followed the ninja 
towards the door, they noted a young man in the back yard yelling furiously 
at an unseen foe as he raised a bokken over his head to strike. They stopped 
to watch as Sasuke continued on obliviously.
     "Cursed Saotome!" the man raged. "Your days are like the last grains 
of sand slipping inexorably to the bottom of the glass!"
     He leaped.
     Takeda decided to step outside to talk. The young man began to strike 
over and over at a padded mannequin wearing a red satin mandarin blouse. 
The thing had a black wig with a braided pig-tail. It was almost certainly 
an effigy of Ranma Saotome.
     To the two cops' wondering eyes, the dummy fell to pieces in the wake 
of the young man's onslaught. The kendoist stepped back away from the 
carnage to admire his handiwork. He seemed truly pleased with himself.
     "Hmmmmph," he grunted. "So falls the villain. *Sic semper tyranis!*"
     "Amazing technique," Ozawa remarked. "Especially for a bokken."
     Tatewaki cocked his head in the direction of the strange voice. "Ah 
yes," he observed. "I do in fact recall my twisted sister mentioning the 
visit of the police this morn. You must be they."
     Takeda bowed slightly. "Inspector Takeda Jiro of the Tokyo Prefecture 
Police. This is Detective Lieutenant Ozawa."
     Tatewaki bowed as well. "I am he that makes the heavens weep with joy 
at my beholding: the rising star of the high school kendo world, and known 
throughout Japan as the Blue Thunder of Furinkan High! You stand before 
Kuno Tatewaki, age eighteen..."
     Takeda's eyes flicked to either side of him as the distant sound of 
thunder rumbled across the otherwise cloudless morning sky.
     "I have a few questions for you, Mister Kuno," he said at length, 
still uneasy as to where the thunder could have come from.
     "I shall answer them," he vowed solemly.
     Takeda decided to go with the Ryouga question first. "What can you 
tell me about a man named Ryouga Hibiki?"
     "Hibiki," Tatewaki said, testing the sound of the name on his tongue. 
"A reckless, brazen thug given to fits of peregrination at the whim and 
will of the winds."
     "Not a very high opinion of him, I gather."
     Tatewaki cocked his head in thought. "Though he may be fulminous and 
improperly enamored of the lovely Tendo Akane, he has been my ally against 
a common foe: Saotome Ranma."
     Takeda sighed. He was starting to wonder if everything in this ward 
revolved around the pig-tailed martial artist. It certainly seemed that way.
     "Do you know where we might find him?"
     Tatewaki held up his hands. "I would be both prophet and seer had I 
the ability to divine the arcane meanderings of Hibiki -though he is known 
to frequent the humble domicile of Tendo Akane." He rubbed his chin. "Aye, 
not for long can his mercurial winds hold him from that place."
     Takeda decided that he wouldn't get anything useful from him concerning 
Saotome Ranma. The man's hatred was quite evident. "I'll keep that in mind. 
Now on to some other questions. Did you know Nakazawa Miko?"
     "A member of my sister's gymnastic team, was she not?"
     Takeda nodded. "Anything else come to mind?"
     "Not in the least."
     "How about Ogata Yuka?"
     Tatewaki nodded absently. "In as much as she was a friend of my fierce 
tigress, Tendo Akane."
     Takeda nodded. Akane's name was being dropped almost as much as Ranma's.
     "Not very well then."
     "Aye," Kuno agreed. "Though she was comely of face, she could not hold 
my heart in thrall as does Tendo Akane and the vibrant Pig-Tailed Girl."
     "Who is this Pig-Tailed Girl?" Ozawa asked. "Does she have a name?"
     Kuno took on a pained look. "It is no name worthy of her beauty; in 
fact it is for no other reason than her sorcerous enslavement to the thrice-
damned Saotome Ranma, a modern day Svengali if ever again that black soul 
found flesh and form, that she also goes by the name of Saotome Ranma."
     Ozawa and Takeda scribbled this down, but it was clearly the ramblings 
of a seriously delusional man. It had to be.
     "Could you, um, describe this Pig-Tailed Girl?" Takeda asked. When you 
were as short of good leads as they were, anything might have value.
     "Words alone could never prove the measure of their worth in describing 
my beloved Pig-Tailed Goddess," Tatewaki apologized. "But I shall endeavor 
in my own crude way to do so. She is small of height, shorter by a hand than 
even the petite beauty of Tendo Akane. Her hair shines bright crimson red 
like the sunset at its most beautiful, and is tied in a pig-tail like that 
of her foul enslaver, Saotome. Her breasts are ample, swelling majestically 
as--"
     "--Just a basic description, please," Ozawa broke in. Tatewaki was 
starting to drool.
     "Very well," Tatewaki replied, clearing his throat. "She is most 
voluptuous of figure, her voice sweet like spring honey, and her eyes shine 
with the light and color of the afternoon sky above the summer sea."
     Takeda and Ozawa finished jotting down the description, such as it 
was given.
     "Thank you for your time," Takeda offered. He and Ozawa turned without 
another word towards the concerned frown of Sasuke, as the ninja waited for 
them at the back door.
     When they were both safely within the confines of the car, Ozawa sighed 
heartily.
     "Understand why Matsumoto's boys came away with nothing from this 
place?" he asked Takeda.
     Takeda nodded. "A couple of crackpots, but I wouldn't say that we 
didn't get anything... I want to drop by the Ucchan again."
     "To confirm Konatsu's alibi?"
     "I want to confront Kuonji about her own activities before I bring up 
Konatsu's alibi."
     Ozawa started the car and put it in gear after consulting some 
papers from his attach�. "I remember now why the Cat Cafe caught my 
attention."
     Takeda thumbed through his notes and yawned. "Go on."
     "There was a delivery boy who was stopped by a local cop for a 
disturbance charge the night of the second murder. He was working for the 
Cat Cafe. His name was Mousse. I remembered part of it after the Kuno girl 
mentioned it."
     "What were the specifics of the charge?"
     "He claims he was chasing after someone when he ran into a cluster of 
trash cans. He lost his balance and smacked straight into a brick wall. The 
cop found him a little dazed, cited him, and let him go."
     "Who was he chasing?"
     Ozawa smiled. "Saotome Ranma."
     "Did he say why?"
     Ozawa shook his head. "If he did, the officer didn't put it in his 
report."
     "What time was the citation issued?"
     Ozawa handed him a copy of the citation as he pulled out into the 
street and rolled down the hill.
     "Says here he was cited at 11:26 PM," Takeda replied. "Time of death 
for Nakazawa was approximately 10:30 PM. He was cited close to the canal 
point where she was dumped."
     "What do you think?" Ozawa asked.
     "I say we take Miss Kuno's advice and pay a visit to the Cat Cafe. 
I want to know what a delivery boy was doing out so late, and I want to 
know why he was chasing Saotome. We can stop by the Ucchan later."



                              -Thirteen-



     The Cat Cafe was a cheery affair done in red and white. A drop-dead 
gorgeous Chinese girl, with long purple hair and wearing a pink cheongsam 
dress with daring slits up to the hip, greeted them cheerfully. A wizened 
old lady behind the counter in the kitchen gave them narrow-eyed glances 
as they were seated.
     The place had just opened for the day, and the lunch crowd was still 
an hour or so away. They were the only customers present. The girl, 
obviously Shampoo, handed them menus and then bounced away to the kitchen. 
     "I don't see the boy anywhere," Ozawa observed.
     "We'll ask when the girl comes back."
     Shampoo returned shortly with a teapot and little china cups for them. 
     "Excuse me, miss," Takeda broached. "I'd like to speak to the owner, 
if he or she is around."
     Shampoo's violet eyes widened for a moment.
     "Is there something wrong, sirs?" she asked. She couldn't imagine them 
being upset with her service.
     "No no," Ozawa replied. "We have a few questions, that's all."
     Shampoo gave them a perfunctory bow and excused herself. Takeda 
strained his ears to listen as the Chinese girl exchanged words with the 
crone in the kitchen. He could see both of them through the service counter 
window.

     "There two men here wanting ask questions. They want see you, great-
grandmother. Shampoo think they from Immigration," Shampoo said in stiff 
Japanese.
     "Nonsense, child. Our entry visas are valid for another year," the 
crone replied. "I'll go see what they want. In the meantime, see if you can 
find that worthless Mousse and get him to finish cleaning out the grease 
traps."
     "Yes, great-grandmother!" Shampoo chirped.

     Cologne hopped out of the kitchen perched on a gnarled ashwood staff. 
     "Can I be of some assistance to you gentlemen?" she asked. Her voice 
was as old as she looked.
     Takeda went through the introductions and credentials.
     "My great-granddaughter Shampoo thinks you are from Immigration," 
Cologne said. "I'm not sure that I'm glad to see that you are not."
     "We don't care about your visa status," Takeda assured. "We want to 
ask you some questions about the recent murders."
     Cologne nodded sagely. "I shall answer what I can."
     "Is your delivery boy around?" Takeda began. "I believe his name is 
Mousse?"
     Cologne's eyes rolled slightly. "You think that worthless fool is 
involved somehow?"
     "We think he might have important information concerning the second 
murder," Ozawa supplied.
     "I don't see how."
     "I have a question concerning him that would be relevant to you," 
Takeda said. "I'd like to know what he was doing out so late at night. He 
claims he was working on a delivery order. Are you open that late?"
     Cologne took her time in responding.
     "We have certain customers that enjoy a preferred status," she replied 
evenly.
     "Would you care to go into detail regarding that? Names, addresses?"
     "No," the old woman replied. "That information is priviliged."
     "You wouldn't consider bending on that, would you?" Ozawa asked, his 
voice issuing tones of challenge. "Even in a situation where three young 
women have already died?"
     Cologne was unfazed. "I don't see how that could help you."
     "It could put certain people in certain places at certain times," 
Takeda replied. "It could prove crucial in assessing suspects and their 
testimony. I'm asking you politely, as a civic duty, but I will take 
stronger measures to get information that I need."
     The old crone blinked once, an action that seemed almost mechanical, 
as if trying to appear more human. "No. I'm sorry officers, but I must 
decline."
     Takeda nodded slowly, almost sorrowfully. "I'm sorry that you feel 
that way," he said to her. "I could get a court order that would compel you 
to answer."
     Cologne smiled indulgently. "I doubt there is anything that you or 
your fellow policemen could do to me that Mao's Red Guard thugs haven't 
tried with utter failure, Inspector."
     "Not even to keep your delivery boy out of jail then," Takeda replied. 
He was dealing with a tough old broad, one that wouldn't knuckle under to 
intimidation. She had to have a weak spot, and he would find it. "I'm 
willing to bet that he wouldn't be as stubborn."
     "Perhaps not," Cologne said thoughtfully. "But then I doubt he would 
be very useful to you."
     "Oh?"
     "He is a half-blind fool," she replied in a gravelly voice. "His 
only value to me is his pathetic devotion to Shampoo. Do to him what you 
will."
     "I'll consider it," Takeda replied. "I'm sure he can tell me about 
your 'preferred' customers. And if not, there is always Shampoo."
     Cologne's eyes narrowed to rheumy slits as he mentioned the girl's 
name. Takeda looked away, not wanting to give away his sudden glee at 
finding the old crone's weakness. *Got you, you decrepit old bitch!*
     "I've got a very good friend over at Immigration," Takeda went on. 
"Okuda Yusaku. We used to work together on cases involving the Korean 
mafia. I'm sure he wouldn't mind reviewing Shampoo's visa." He looked 
straight at Cologne. "He might even discover some irregularities, if you 
catch my meaning. Not enough to deport her, but enough to keep her in 
detention for awhile, while they sort matters out."
     "I grow weary of your impotent threats," she replied. There was a hint 
of concern in her voice, nonetheless.
     "It wasn't a threat," Takeda told her. "It was a promise."
     Cologne's rebuttal was cut short by a plaintive cry of "Stupid Mousse! 
When you learn Shampoo no love you!" This was followed by the sound of 
something heavy impacting against something hard and hollow, which in turn 
was followed by the clatter and crash of pots, pans, and china bowls on the 
tile floor of the kitchen.
     "Is there a problem?" Takeda asked, starting to rise.
     Cologne hopped towards the kitchen on her stick. "One moment, please," 
she managed.
     There followed harsh hissing words in Chinese. Neither Takeda nor 
Ozawa were fluent, but they probably would have had considerable trouble 
with the Qinghai flavored dialect the old hag used even if they were. There 
was a sullen reply, and Mousse appeared, rubbing his head. Shampoo and 
Cologne stepped out of the kitchen after him, and waited across the room.
     He was tall for a Chinese man, with a handsome face, and long flowing 
black hair that reached to the small of his back. He had a solid build 
beneath the loose white robes he wore, and he walked with the steady 
footing of a martial artist. A pair of thick-lensed glasses was perched 
on his brow over his black bangs.
     "Can I help you, gentlemen?" he asked, staring directly at a rubber 
tree in a terracotta planter.
     Cologne rapped him soundly on the head with her staff.
     "Put your glasses on, fool!" she hissed.
     "You shriveled old bag," Mousse cursed under his breath as he rubbed 
his head with one hand and slipped his glasses on with the other. The thick 
lenses distorted his eyes, but they couldn't hide the hatred that burned 
within them.
     Mousse turned to face the two policemen.
     "Yes?" he asked in a surly voice.
     "I have a copy of a citation issued to you almost three weeks ago, on 
July thirteenth," Takeda said to him, offering the paper to him.
     Mousse took the paper and squinted at it through his glasses. "So? I 
paid the fine last week," he replied. That fine had cost him the spending 
money he had been saving for two months, money he had planned on using to 
take Shampoo on a date. It was a sore reminder. "What's the big deal?" he 
growled.
     "So you agree that you were in fact cited on that evening," Takeda 
stated.
     "That's obvious."
     "What were you doing out so late at night?"
     Mousse cast a quick glance towards Cologne before answering. 
     "I was on a delivery."
     "Do you get orders so late at night very often?"
     Mousse shrugged. "Sometimes. I've had a lot of them in the last 
couple months."
     "Were you on a delivery the night of June fifteenth?"
     "I don't remember."
     "Think hard."
     Mousse closed his eyes and rocked back on his heels. He righted himself 
abruptly and looked straight at Takeda. "I don't remember."
     "How about July twenty-seventh?"
     Mousse shrugged again. "I don't remember."
     "You don't? It was less than a week ago. Are you sure?"
     "I might have been out then," he conceded. "I've been pretty busy."
     "Can you remember the names of your customers and their addresses? This 
is very important."
     Mousse felt the glare of Cologne's eyes boring into his back. Takeda 
could see the intense look the old crone was giving the Chinese boy and 
wondered if his hatred of Cologne would override whatever admonition she 
had given him in the kitchen.
     "Not really," he said at length.
     "Think hard," Takeda pressed. "Three people have died so far."
     "No, I can't remember," he said. There was an air of disgust in his 
voice.
     Takeda took back the citation. "All right, fair enough. According to 
your statement to the issuing officer, you were chasing Saotome Ranma when 
you ran into the garbage cans and caused the offense for which you were 
cited. Is that correct?"
     "Yes."
     "Tell me why you were chasing him."
     Mousse's eyes began to burn. "I caught that Casanova, Saotome, groping 
Shampoo earlier that day. I was trying to satisfy her honor, but he got 
away from me."
     "You lie, stupid Mousse!" Shampoo spluttered. "You just jealous Ranma 
get to do what Mousse only dream of with Shampoo!"
     Mousse's hands squeezed tight into fists, and tears began to well in 
his eyes.
     "How can you stand that womanizer?" he cried in anguish. "He'll never 
be faithful to you like I will!"
     Shampoo put her hands on her curvy hips and gave him a sardonic look. 
"Shampoo no love you, Mousse. Accept before it destroy you."
     Mousse stood there, trembling. Takeda could see a wealth of emotion 
play across his face, and none of it was comforting. There was incredible 
pain and resentment there, perhaps more.
     "Damn you all!" the Chinese boy screamed. He leaped past the two 
policemen and dashed out of the door, tears streaming behind him.
     "As you can see," Cologne said in the silence that followed, "he wasn't 
much help. Do you have any other questions, Inspector? We have a merchant's 
festival coming up tomorrow night, and there is still much work to be done. 
It will be even harder without that worthless man-child's help."
     "I have a few more," Takeda replied. "Tell me about Mousse. Is he a 
member of the family? Does he have any relatives in the Tokyo area?"
     Cologne cleared her throat. "I doubt that could prove very useful, 
Inspector."
     "I'll be the judge of that," Takeda said evenly.
     "Mousse lives here at the restaurant. He has no family in Japan. 
Anything else I must decline. It is a long story, and not a very good one 
at that. As I have said, we are very busy preparing for tomorrow night."
     Takeda cursed to himself. The old bag was more formidable than he 
thought if she could get a boy who obviously hated her to clam up on her 
direction. If Mousse wouldn't talk, then it was obvious that Shampoo 
wouldn't either. He could make good on his threat to lean on her, but that 
would take time and possibly provoke a protest from the Chinese community. 
Cologne would do that if it would work, and possibly just for spite if it 
seemed like it wouldn't. It was a lot of heat for potentially little reward. 
     He handed her a piece of paper with the phone number to Ozawa's office 
printed on it. "Call this number if you come up with anything that we might 
be able to use -or if you change your mind about the names and addresses of 
your clients."
     Cologne took the paper.
     "I'll do that. Good day, Inspector." 
     She hopped back into the kitchen.
     They walked out of the Cat Cafe and started for the car. As they 
reached it, Shampoo came bouncing up behind them. Concern was evident on 
her face.
     "Can I help you, miss?" Takeda asked.
     "Mousse," Shampoo began worriedly. "Is he in trouble?"
     "He might be," Takeda admitted. "If he is, I want to do what I can to 
help. But I need information that your great-grandmother won't give me."
     Shampoo nodded slowly. "I no defy great-grandmother's wishes," she 
said softly. "But I do what I can for Mousse's sake."
     After the display he had witnessed inside the Cat Cafe, he wasn't 
sure if he believed that. "Why would you care about him?"
     The purple-haired amazon looked away. "No want to hurt Mousse, but he 
not understand any other way. He no want to understand."
     Takeda handed her another copy of Ozawa's office number. "Call this 
number if you change your mind, or if you have anything to tell me about 
Mousse."
     Shampoo took the number, then went back inside.
     "What do you think about all that?" Ozawa asked.
     "I'm going to give Okuda a call," Takeda replied.
     "Oh? Going to carry out your threat?"
     "Not yet. I'm concerned about Mousse."
     "How so?"
     "The kid's got a lot of anger," Takeda said absently. "And a lot of 
frustration. That gives him motive. He's strong, and he looks like he can 
fight. He's pretty handsome as well, and speaks good Japanese. A teenaged 
girl might find a flirting advance by him very favorable. What with him 
wandering around at night on deliveries, he has an alibi and he has the 
opportunity."
     "And he lives here at the Cat Cafe. I don't think he'd have any place 
to hide the bodies, so he has to get rid of them," Ozawa noted. "The canal 
is only a kilometer away. A kid like him could probably hoof it in the 
middle of the night with a body and never be seen by anyone. Hell, he 
could carry her in a big sack; none of the girls were very big."
     "He's a good suspect," Takeda agreed. "Too bad we have nothing on 
him to prove it."
     "What do you make of the old bag's refusal to talk about her clients? 
Is it possible that she knows, and is trying to cover it up for him?"
     "I don't think that's it at all," Takeda responded. He got into the 
car. "I'm calling Okuda because I think Cologne is in on an illegal Chinese 
immigrant safehouse scheme. She knows about it in any event. She doesn't 
want us nosing around any of those places because she's worried they'll get 
caught."
     "So how is dragging Immigration into this going to help our case?" 
Ozawa asked as he slipped in behind the steering wheel.
     "If I'm right and there is an immigration crime going on in Nerima, 
Okuda can arrest Mousse, and we can subpoena his testimony. We can get 
him to spill information relevant to both cases. We attach a rider to 
Okuda's search warrant of the Cat Cafe to include evidence that supports 
our murder investigation in case he finds anything. Okuda wins. If Mousse 
is the killer, we've got him off the street before he can kill anyone else 
-we win too."
     He borrowed Ozawa's cellular phone and dialed a number.
     "Put me through to Captain Okuda," he grunted over the phone. "Let him 
know it's Takeda."
     There was a pause of several minutes while Ozawa drove towards the 
Ucchan.
     "Okuda! Takeda. I have a hot tip for you in Nerima. I'll go over 
the details tonight after I get back to my hotel room, but for now I want 
you to do me a favor."
     There was a pause.
     "This one is sweet, and it won't cost you much," Takeda assured him.
"I want you to put out a notice to the airports and the shipping terminals 
to watch for a Chinese national on a work visa by the name of Mousse. I'll 
fax you a full description later, but I'm sure you've got him on file... 
Yeah, I need this guy, Okuda. He tries to leave the country, I need you to 
put him on ice and sit on him. He doesn't come up for air, you got that? 
...Yeah... He's a possible multiple murder suspect, and he might try to 
flee the country or do something to get himself deported if he thinks we've 
got him."
     Takeda allowed himself a brief smile.
     "I owe you, Okuda, and I'll pay you back tonight when I send you the 
information. Yeah, it's a Chinese immigrant scheme. No, I don't have 
anything solid, that's for you to investigate, but I've got a good feeling 
about it. Thanks, Okuda."
     He hung up the phone as Ozawa pulled into the side street next to the 
Ucchan.
     When they got out of the car and started for the door, they noted 
that several people were already there, grumbling about something. That 
something was made clear when they read the noted taped to the door.


                  CLOSED FOR THE DAY, WE APOLOGIZE 
                  FOR THE INCONVENIENCE.   -UCCHAN.


     "What's going on here?" Takeda asked.
     Ozawa's cellular phone rang. He answered it brusquely.
     "What?!" he barked. "Stop them, do something about it, call Judge 
Kobayashi if you have to, but... Shit."
     He hung up the phone.
     "What is it?" Takeda asked.
     "You were right about liberal judges in Nerima," Ozawa said bitterly. 
"Judge Maskawa ruled for Konatsu *this morning.* I don't know the details 
yet, but my office told me that someone raised a stink about the arrest, 
and a local paper started making phone calls. After that, Maskawa ruled 
that the charges against him were specious, and that Konatsu was eligible 
for bond. He set it cheap just to spite us, I think. The little fairy just 
posted. Holding Kurenai, an indigent who couldn't make bail if he tried, 
was a moot point after that, so the Public Prosecutor dropped the charges 
in anticipation of an unfavorable ruling. He's out, too."
     "GODDAMMIT!" Takeda roared. "We didn't even have them twenty-four 
hours! They should have rotted in confinement for at least a week... FUCK!"
     Takeda slammed his fist against the door.
     "Who the fuck made the stink?"
     "My people are working on it. They'll get back to us as soon as they 
find out."
     "GODDAMMIT! Are they going to do the same thing when we finally do 
get this guy? I'll bury him myself before it comes to that."



                           -Fourteen-



     "Give it to me, you bitch..." the voice grunted in a hoarse whisper.
     There was a whimpering, tearful reply. Not words, just hopeless soft 
sounds to convey the terrified pleas.
     "Give it to me!" the voice hissed again.
     The evening was warm, their surroundings dark. A dog barked in the 
distance. The whimpering continued, this time the pleas were mingled with 
cries of pain and stifled sobs.
     "...fucking cunt..." the voice snarled. "Stop your crying. *I'm* the 
one in pain... *I'm* the one who's suffering..."
     The soft cries melted into one long low ululation of despair.

     "FUCKING CUNT!!!" the voice hissed with an unquenchable hate.

     There was a sharp cracking sound, and the moaning stopped abruptly. 
In its place was a quiet gurgling that faded all too soon into the sounds 
of the night. After that there was the sound of flesh being rent, and low 
hissed curses of hatred and desperation as failure was realized once again.



                         END OF PART THREE