________________________________________________________________________ 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