"Kurosaki Ichigo."
"I have a gift for you."
"A gift?"
"Indeed."
"Can I have your name, sir?"
Beep
It's raining. It's been raining for the past three hours and it's not the regular downpour of the early fall season. It's cats and dogs, and he honestly wouldn't be surprised if fish migrated into it. Or if he got a cold, seeing as he was currently standing in it.
The city is almost steaming with rainclouds, like the heavens descended and shrouded every corner it could find. The harbor is alight with freight-ships and cranes blinking in the neigh-fog, the streetlamps turned on in the September night. The water's a murky grey, black in places where it calms.
He's long since abandoned the notion of ever drying again, would even try to convince himself that the station-coffee was good if only because of the warmth and keeps thinking how shitty a gift this has turned out to be.
The CSU has erected a pavilion to shield the crime scene as much as possible, but it was a lost cause. Every drop of blood and most likely every piece of viable evidence has been washed away.
Ichigo sighs. This was shaping up to be a long haul.
Nailed to one of the containers aboard a colossal cargo ship, is a man. He's not been crucified, though at least that would have suggested some sort of religious fanatic or a sort of penance; he's been run through with an iron rod which, as Chad pointed out, carries very little significance at all.
He'd been found at 3:30 am this morning, right before the rain started, by two dockworkers staying late. They'd seen nothing of importance, but one of them remembered seeing a motorbike in the area. Seeing as half the dockworkers drove one to or from work and you couldn't transport a body on one such which had them rule out the bike as a viable lead.
Ichigo had been woken by a phone call from an unknown, but insistent number. At first he'd ignored it, hoping the caller would remember what time of day it was and leave him be. Then he remembered that he was a ranking homicide detective and picked up the phone like the damn professional he was.
The voice had been male, smooth, almost alluring to Ichigo's ears. It had also sounded like a snake licking your ear.
Only a minute later had Mizuiro called him and told him to get out of bed.
He'd picked him up and driven him to the crime scene, where he was now, trying to remember what warmth felt like at 4:15 in the morning.
"Do you want an umbrella?" Mizuiro asks him, holding one as he walks over with his eyes on his phone as opposed to Ichigo's face. Ichigo doesn't envy him. He's going to have to fight tooth and nail to keep as many details about this out of the press as possible. But at least he gets to do it dry.
"I'm already drenched," Ichigo shrugs and turns up his collar.
Mizuiro looks up and bats it down again, "Don't do that, it looks stupid."
"What do you want me to do then?"
"Use the scarf Keigo and I gave you," he answers without sympathy or anything of the like. Mizuiro's tough. He has to be.
He'd toiled away at university, constantly refining his oratory skills and honing his rhetoric. He'd been studying communication, had done so with fervor and had used every trick in the book to get the position of communications liaison for a huge tele-company. After a month, he'd quit. He never talked much about it, but Keigo always shook his head, eyes closed, when they brought it up. Mizuiro had then applied for the position at the NPA. It had been down to him and another woman, but in the end, Mizuiro's calm demeanor and trustworthy charm had gotten him the job.
That and his ability to stare down a frothing mob of journalists without batting an eye.
"Chad's got something for you. And I called in the probie. He'll be waiting for you in my office." Mizuiro's eyes are back to his phone, frantically typing away. It could as easily be his shopping list as it could a heated discussion with an editor. Mizuiro's a wildcard like that.
"Probie's this month?"
"Next, but I figured we could use the manpower with this." He waves his hand, encompassing the entire misery business elegantly.
Ichigo shoots the container a final look, the lights flooding the entire front of the ship, "Yeah, you're probably right."
"You sound surprised," Mizurio rolls his eyes and walks away.
Chad greets him with a single nod and then leads him to a little patch of dry under a lean-to. He lights a smoke and offers Ichigo one, like he always does, and Ichigo declines politely, like he always does.
"The vics male, in his thirties, no ID, no prints, no teeth. Surveillance's been sent to Keigo, body's been sent to Inoue."
He has a way of saying these things as if they're footnotes in the paper, but Ichigo also sees the tension in his neck. Chad's one of those people who can wrestle a deadbeat to the ground after he chewed up his wife and then feed ducks or make remixes in his free time. He has a tremendous way of always being surprising. He'd once made Ichigo a CD, told him that he'd inspired it, made him sit in the car and listen to it and afterwards they went to Denny's and got breakfast while they talked about MMA.
"Can't be identified?"
"Most likely."
"No evidence to speak of?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"Well, this is going to be fun," Ichigo sighs. No ID usually means that somewhere out there is a group of people who's missing a loved one and they have no way of knowing what even happened to him. Without an ID, he'll be burned and stored, left to collect dust until he's either buried or thrown out.
Sometimes, his job sucks.
"You'll figure it out," Chad says, the same way he always says things. Definite.
Ichigo's phone starts ringing again and he fishes it out of his pocket. It's damp. They begin walking back out into the rain, heading towards Chad's car.
"Thanks, man," he tells Chad and flips open the phone.
"You better appreciate my sacrifices. You know what time it is?"
Ichigo does, "What did you find on the surveillance?"
"Zilch."
Ichigo sighs and opens the door on the passenger's side. He doesn't own a car himself, doesn't even have a license. He skipped that in college in favor of travelling to Australia over the summer. He'd learned how to catch kangaroos, how to surf and how to handle himself in barfights – or at least how not to break them up.
"But I wouldn't call you unless I had something," Keigo says then as Ichigo closes the door.
The car's littered with old fast-food wrappers, the Times, soda- cans and heavy books on economics. It goes to show that Chad has multitudes.
"The tape's been wiped, Ichigo. I've tried retrieving the data in the last hour but it's too fragmented. I don't have anything because there's no savable files to watch."
"This is good news how?"
"It takes skill to scramble eggs, my friend, it takes serious skill."
Chad pulls out of the harbor and starts down the road. The streetlights are almost orange, the sky's making no incentive to bleed color into the clouds anytime soon and all Ichigo wants is a lead and some coffee.
"I know it's not much, but it's more than what you've got so far," Keigo says and Ichigo has to agree with him on that.
"We'll be back soon."
"Not with Chad's driving," Keigo says before he hangs up.
The faded green wunderbaum is swinging idly as Chad pulls out into traffic.
Keigo and Mizuiro had been his friends in university and Ichigo'd been surprised when he found that the computer science and poli. sci. major had, in protest of the current system, orchestrated one of the most elaborate shut downs of the police servers, allowing hundreds of criminals to walk. They were still cleaning up his mess, but Keigo'd been hired the minute they'd caught him. Which Ichigo thought was rather grand of them.
The neon advertisements are lighting up the buildings, toothpaste, movies, liquor, it's all there. There's an almost soothing feeling in watching the ads shift and the soft transition to another product. It gives the night an eerie and mystic glow, making it easy to believe only otherworldly creatures could inhabit it.
It takes them another twenty minutes to sift through the early morning traffic and even with Chad's driving they reach the Keishicho sooner than expected. They drive into the parking cellar under the building, show their badges to the guard and parks the car.
Tatsuki's sleeping on a couch. Ichigo envies her.
He and Chad made it to the breakroom in one piece. Ichigo bumped into a suit looking somewhat lost, most likely a lawyer, and in that case, he doesn't lose too much sleep over that.
Chad goes directly to the coffee-machine and starts brewing the vilest concoction known to man, which coincidentally is the only coffee Ichigo can drink now and enjoy. The coffee-machine, however, is a crime in itself. It requires a certain touch to make it work and Ichigo has never possessed this touch himself. Which is the way he met most of his friends. The machine almost coughs up its filters as Chad works his magic.
While Chad's being his saintly self, Tatsuki stirs and wakes. She sits up, looking utterly wrecked.
"Rough night?" Ichigo asks.
"Like you wouldn't believe. Family," she sighs and lies back down, "You look grey. New case?"
Ichigo nods and takes the coffee Chad offers him, "Man nailed to a container."
"Why do you get all the exciting cases?"
"Because we work homicide," Ichigo answers and takes a drink of his coffee, burning his tongue.
Tatsuki clicks hers, "If only I'd known. I was so distracted by the big guns and badassery in my department that I didn't notice all the awesome stuff behind the mountain of paperwork you have to do."
"Yeah, well, more's the pity." Ichigo empties the cup and puts the mug in the sink.
Tatsuki gives him a tired, but cheeky grin, "Let me know when you're ready to take a beating again."
Ichigo makes a face and nods to Chad, "Unlike some, we have actual work to do. Raincheck on the asskicking?"
"Can't wait," Tatsuki closes her eyes and buries her face in the pillows to drown out the light.
Ichigo and Chad turns it off when they leave.
Tatsuki is a member of the Riot Squad. They're there whenever the shit's about to hit the fan and usually make sure it doesn't. Tatsuki had worked every thinkable job and had stories to tell from all of them. They'd met a few years ago when he'd ordered a breach and found Tatsuki doing the breaching. She'd then proceeded to almost singlehandedly taking down their suspect. That's one thing that hadn't changed since then – Tatsuki can still kick his ass.
They start heading towards the coroner's office and subsequently Inoue.
The thing about Inoue is that she always manages to make the coroner's office seems warm and welcome despite the smell of disinfection and spirits and the mutilated, lifeless bodies. She has a way with the next of kin when they come to identify their loved ones, makes them feel strong enough to face their worst nightmare.
Ichigo opens the door for Chad and enters after him. Inoue looks up from the body in question and smiles at them. Then she turns back to the re-stitching of the torso and pulls the thread long. Her hair's tied behind her head with what looks like her pen, two hairpins holding back her fringe.
They wait while she finishes. Ichigo looks around and sees what's left of Tatsuki's night. Three bodies, a woman, a man and a child is lying on separate tables and Ichigo doesn't envy either Tatsuki or Inoue.
Inoue and Tatsuki had lived together while Inoue had first taken her medical degree, trying to become a surgeon, no less, but had found out she'd rather wanted to help those who didn't have a voice. So she became a coroner. And if anybody gave them a voice, it was Inoue. Ichigo had seen her stay at the precinct for 73 consecutive hours trying to get IDs on the 32 victims that had burned to death in a hotel fire. She'd listened to The Lark Ascending and continued to sample skin, try dental records, going through almost every sinew they had to find an identifying surgery or injury.
They'd split up when they'd both begun working at the precinct. Inoue has a boyfriend. A sweet guy named Shun. Inoue's rather secretive about how they'd met, but Ichigo suspects it was work-related seeing as Inoue rarely goes anywhere between the precinct and her apartment.
"Just a minute," she says and picks up her clipboard. She looks around, looking somewhat puzzled to the fact that she can't seem to locate her pen. Ichigo fishes one out of his pocket, clicks it and hands it to her.
"Thank you."
She writes down a few notes, fills out what boxes needs filling.
"So," she starts and dots her last sentence, "he was impaled post-mortem. But the hole in his chest was made when he was alive."
Inoue brushes a strand of hair out of her eyes and gently touches the hole in question. It's in the very center of his chest, going all the way through him. The ironpipe had been lodged in his solar plexus, little tangs of rust discoloring the white, waxy skin.
"Anti-mortem?" Ichigo asks and bends down to get a closer look.
"I found ligature marks on his ankles and wrists, so he was restrained while they drilled the hole, the edges are uneven like he moved around a lot. They went through the sternum, through his heart and lungs which then killed him."
"Cheery," Ichigo comments and looks the poor guy over, "Where was he killed?"
"Not at the crime scene, I can tell you that much."
Ichigo nods and runs a hand through his hair, "Anything else you can tell me about him?"
"He probably passed out before he died," she says softly.
"Anything to help an ID?" Chad asks, ever the pragmatic.
"His bloodwork will be in soon, but all the normal markers are completely destroyed. I might be able to pull a print from one of his less injured fingers, but I can't make any promises."
His fingers are burnt to a crisp, black and flaky. He looks miserable as he's lying there on the table, and something about the lines around his mouth tells Ichigo he probably was when he was alive as well. The way his eyes aren't fully closed has Ichigo hoping he passed out the minute the drill was put to his chest.
"I've sent his stomach contents to the lab and I'm going to be doing a toxicology report as well. He might have trace amounts of some anesthetic or something like that, something that would explain how he got tied up in the first place."
"You make it sound like he did it voluntarily," Chas remarks and Inoue licks her lips.
"So far it looks like there was only one assailant."
Ichigo frowns, "Only one?"
Inoue nods, "Which is why I've ordered a toxicology. You can't tie someone down and simultaneously hold a gun to their head."
Ichigo sighs. This was, without any doubt, the shittiest present he'd ever received.
"Do what you do, then."
"You too," she says and gives him a quiet smile.
Even here in the most desolate area of existence, does Inoue Orihime have the ability to make the clouds shine with a silver lining.
On their way back to the bullpens, Chad breaks off. He wants to check up on Keigo and find out how far along the lab is. Ichigo nods him off and then proceeds to his desk unaccompanied.
The halls are all the same kind of boring white, getting lost is easy since everything looks the same. Apart from a few black and white photographs of mayors, the city once upon a time and other strange almost comically staged pictures of handshakes to underline how naked the walls are. The light's stark and harsh in the early morning and late at night. They have a magical ability to show all the world-weariness of whoever it touches. Ichigo has yet to meet anyone who looks decent in the bold light, like they don't have anything to hide from the rest of the world.
The bullpen's lazily waking up or going to bed, depending on where you look. Tuesdays are rarely a busy day for crime, it's more of a weekend thing. Which they don't tell you at the academy.
Rukia's waiting by the door, falling into step with him as they head through the labyrinth of desks and whiteboards, office-chairs and mountains upon mountains of paperwork. They were never told about that either.
"Enjoying your present?"
Ichigo shrugs off his jacket and slings it over his arm, "Not really."
The thunder humming in the air outside, the drenching autumn rain, have the station hot and humid. There's a drop travelling down his back already. Fans are working hard to cool down the poor bastards stuck inside writing reports. It's a testament to how poor the air-condition has become, when one can go from freezing to sweating in 20 minutes.
"On the bright side, we'll be running co-op on this one," Rukia says and sends him a little smile, "Captain Ukitake thinks you could use our help. My help. Off the record, of course."
Which, fair, he's mostly likely right about. Organized Crime has better resources than Homicide and easily counts at least twice the manpower. Besides, it's nice to be working with Rukia again, even if it's off the books and she can be pulled anytime her Captain should so wish. Luckily, Ukitake is one of the Captains who doesn't do that sort of thing. He's not Zaraki or Soi Fong. He's not unreasonable.
The first investigation Ichigo had landed himself in had been Rukia's. She'd been on to a shipment of easy drugs and Ichigo had been on the way home from college, his first year of med school. He'd happened upon a car theft, which also happened to be Rukia's drug-traffickers, and had acted accordingly. Rukia had tasered him. When he'd come to, Rukia had been standing over him, looking thoughtfully at him. She'd given him her card. He'd quit med school and when the time had come, he'd interned with her, before he'd been transferred to Homicide.
"I'm inclined to agree," Ichigo sighs and throws his jacket over the half-wall of his cubicle. It's this faded, dusty green and could easily do with facelift, most of the interior seems to hate life and death equally.
"I read Inoue's preliminary," she says and sits down in Chad's chair.
Ichigo mirrors her but takes his own chair, "What do you think?"
Rukia frowns bites her lips. Though she doesn't look it, she's five years older than him.
"From what I can see, meticulous, highly intelligent, wouldn't surprise me if he was a full-blown psychopath. He literally nailed his victim to the container as if he was a piece of art and he's bold enough to call you on your private cellphone. He's gutsy and he won't stop until we catch him."
Besides being a rather fierce shot, Rukia also took a bachelor in behavioral science. The Homicide investigations tend to get caught up in evidence and technicalities when they get stuck. He's called Rukia for a second opinion more times than he can remember.
"When are the photos coming in?" she asks and leans back.
"It's still 5 in the morning, at least another three hours."
"Can't we pull them ourselves?"
Ichigo shakes his head. Rukia's used to having the needed material in her hand within the hour of the crime happening. Organized Crime has priority. She seems annoyed, but resign herself with the reality of the situation.
Instead, she pierced him with a direct stare. "So what's new in your life?" she inquires and smiles a wolfish smile.
Ichigo's immediately on edge, "What do you mean?"
"I was just wondering if you'd gone on any exciting dates or met some mouthwatering people, all single and ready to mingle?"
"What did you do?"
She looks at her nails, "What do you mean, what did I do?"
"You pick your nails when you're lying, give it." Her large blue eyes and petite frame will not fool Ichigo.
"I was just asking," she shrugs, removing her fingers from her nails.
"You signed me up for a dating-site, didn't you?"
She stops her fidgeting and grins impishly. Ichigo's shoulders slump and he runs his hands over his face, trying to rub off the reality of being sold out like this.
"I do it because I worry, Ichigo. You're turning into a crazy cat-man." Which is unfair, he doesn't even have a cat fulltime.
Before he can ask her to delete the profile and everything else she might've signed him up for, Mizuiro appears.
"Ichigo?" he questions, looking down into his phone. One might be tempted to call him aloof, but then he lifts his eyes and they're warm and present and you can't help but eat the words again.
"Isn't there something you've forgotten?" Mizuiro taps away on his phone. Ichigo knows that Mizuiro knows, he has, so there's no point in protesting. The other gives him a look and sighs, "The probie's waiting for you."
And Ichigo will have to admit that yes, he'd forgotten all about this. In fairness, he has been occupied with a murder.
"Where is he now?"
"Where he's been the last hour," Mizuiro answers. That means his office. Mizuiro actually has one, because he's important like that. It's a quaint, little thing a floor up from Homicide. It's connected directly be a flight of stairs and if you're bored and need something – anything – to do, you visit Mizuiro. What he gives you then depends on how much he likes you. Some get tea and biscuits, some gossip and some again, a glare that could make grown men cry and a case that'll bore you to tears. The last is mostly reserved for those who bait or tip off the press.
Ichigo straightens and closes his eyes, if only for a second. He has to get some semblance of a decorated Lieutenant, be a Goddamn professional as Rukia says. He thinks about the victim, who was once a person, a living someone, with people who loved and cared for him. He cracks his neck and meets Rukia's eyes. They're ready.
"We'll pick him up and then do a team brief. Can you get a hold of the others?" Ichigo decides then and stands. Mizuiro nods and immediately puts the phone to his ear.
"Shall we?" he asks and Rukia nods. They head towards Mizuiro's office.
The new guy is reading.
He's overdressed in an expensive suit, grey like the clouds outside, heavy with rain and wearing a white shirt and a black tie. He even has a waistcoat on. He looks more like a lawyer or an intern than Ichigo would like.
He's sharp-featured. His eyes are keen and zipping across the pages. And they're blue.
Rukia elbows him in the side as Ichigo notices the probie has stopped reading.
Ichigo puts on a pleasant, yet professional smile and holds out his hand, saying, "Well, I'm –"
"I know who you are."
He promptly ignores the hand and instead nods at Rukia and closes the book. Ichigo looks to her, trying to figure out if this is a joke. The man stands and swings a messenger bag over his shoulder.
Standing, he's looks slender, easy to get the drop on. His hair falls into his eyes and he tosses it out of the way with almost imperceptibly. It's a poignant contrast between the black hair and pale skin, it has Ichigo wondering if people like this exist and whether or not the man in front of him can walk under the hallway lights unscathed. Something about him has Ichigo believing he carries secrets in every nook and pocket he has. He feels different, so very different, from the blunt force that usually hangs about the place – like rain.
"Ishida Uryuu," he says, strangely soft. He's waiting for Ichigo to do something, he assumes. Rukia nods back to him and gives him her name.
"Come on," Ichigo has himself saying, hoping it's the right thing to say in the first place. Ishida follows them down, eyes on the photographs. Rukia steps back into Ichigo's side and they both pretend not to want to talk about the man behind them, so they exchange a sort glance, Rukia pulling a face.
When they reach the bullpen, Mizuiro has managed to gather everyone there. Keigo's spinning around in Ichigo's chair while talking to Chad, Inoue's rifling through her clipboard and Mizuiro's fingers are flying over the keys to his phone. He's dressed their cubicle with a whiteboard, a preliminary report and somehow, like only Mizuiro can, got pictures of both the victim and the crime scene up.
They quiet when the three of them approach.
"You can take the desk next to Inoue," he says to Ishida who duly walks to it and places his messenger bag delicately. While he takes off his suit-jacket and rolls up his Hugo Boss shirt to his elbows, Ichigo introduces him, "Everyone, this is Ishida Uryuu. Latest probationary agent and now our responsibility. Answer his questions and all that, you know the drill and make sure he doesn't get killed by accident."
"Do you carry a gun?" Chad asks and Ishida looks up from his sleeve-rolling.
"No."
Chad nods. It's good to know they got the probationary agent without any obvious methods of self-defense on a case where psychopathy looks to be the driving force. Ichigo takes a deep breath, he'll just have to keep Ishida in the car or under someone's supervision. And then get him his weapons qualifications.
He steps over to the board and puts his hands on his hips. His own shirt is pushed up over the elbows and it's still frothing hot. He wonders how Ishida can stand wearing a waistcoat as well.
"This morning at 3:30, I got a call from our killer. At approximately the same time, a body is found at the Qinghai Container Terminal by two dock workers. CSU arrive there 10 minutes later and almost every single piece of evidence has been washed away by the rain," Ichigo has turned and is addressing them directly.
"The victim's male, in his 30's. We have no prints, no ID and no surveillance footage. Keigo's looked through the different files and none of them was playable. We're trying to find out who manages the terminal's security, where the container's from, but seeing as it's still 5.30 am in the morning, we can't do much with this at the moment."
"It's all digitized now so I need to access the terminal's loading logs to find out where it's from. And since they're currently stonewalling me, I doubt it'll happen before the court-order drops in," Keigo adds, still turning. Ichigo notes that on the board.
Rukia gets up as well, "From what we've seen so far, he's highly intelligent. He doesn't do anything by halves and he has little to no respect for people he perceives as inferior. He's meticulous, which suggests either age or infinite patience, but without more data we can't work out a thorough profile."
Inoue twists Ichigo's pen into her hair, together with her own, "I don't think I'll be able to pull any prints from our victim. He's missing a piece of his little finger, but with all the damage to his fingers and don't know how old the injury is."
"I'll try calling the Isewan's HQ, threaten them with warrants and other scary police things, see if they'll surrender their mainframe," Keigo says and stretches.
"I'll have to deal with the press," Mizuiro joins in, though he could've left them and they would all know why. He hasn't lifted his eyes from the screen even once and doesn't seem inclined to do so anytime soon. "Someone posted a photo of our crime scene around the time of discovery and it's trending on twitter."
"That's macabre," Chad deadpans.
Mizuiro sighs, "Yes, it is."
"We'll go back to the crime scene, Chad, Rukia, Ishida." Ichigo folds his arms and turns to watch the picture of their victim. Without an identity, they can't even pull the photo from his driver's license. His eyes are closed and just as well, he doesn't need a pair of dead eyes following him around.
"Alright, break!" Keigo says and bounces up from the chair, heading for the breakroom to fill up his mug and thermos. Mizuiro rolls his eyes, smiling a little, but heads back to his office to stave the wolves away.
Inoue introduces herself to Ishida and makes the remaining introductions as well on their behalf. Ishida answers like he'd like nothing more than to know the names of everyone on the team, maybe he does and he just really hates Ichigo.
"Come on," Ichigo says and grabs his jacket. Chad's immediately on his heels and Rukia follows. Ishida says goodbye to Inoue and practically saunters after them. He doesn't bother with rolling down his sleeves again, which has Ichigo looking at his wrists the entire way down the elevator.
They all cram into Chad's car, after they spend five minutes clearing the backseat for Rukia and Ishida. While Rukia has a license, she drives the smallest vehicle known to man. They once tried cramming Ichigo into the passenger's seat in her little, violet smart car. They ended up taking the train instead. She's had the seat fixed since then and now they can even fit a person into the back, but there has to be goodwill and miracles working then.
Ichigo all but throws himself into the car and rubs his hands against each other. The car is cold and the warmth that the coffee had driven into his hands has evaporated.
Rukia sits back and pulls out her phone, probably to play Candy Crush or something. She has a new game on her phone every week and when that week ends, she's bored with it and deletes it. Ishida just gets in. He looks out the window, almost like he's bored with it already. He isn't pressing his nose to the window like any of the other probies they've had coming in from the suburbs or the countryside. He watches like he's seen it all before.
"So Ishida, you fresh out of the academy?" Rukia asks, trying to establish a rapport.
"It's all in my file," he says, a half-answer at best.
Rukia's still solving sugarplum puzzles. "I know, but you tell me."
"Yes," he replies then.
"Why do you want to become a police officer?"
"Are you asking for my tragic backstory?" he questions and Ichigo quirks the corners of his mouth.
Rukia closes her phone, "I suppose I am."
"I don't have any," Ishida's back to looking out the window, blissfully unaware that the conversation hasn't finished yet.
"That's what they all say until one day we find them riffling through old unsolved, hoping they might be able to find the one piece of the puzzle that everybody else missed."
Ishida doesn't respond, simply keeps his eyes pointed out the window. Ichigo catches them in the side view mirror. They're almost eerily blue in the pastel morning light.
The residue of the night is still to be found in the cracks of the pavement and dozing off with the cats. The billboards are dimming their displays, the neon still streaming through their logos and ads. The only thing left from the passing nine hours, is the rain.
In the daylight the mountain of containers seems smaller and less imposing than it had in the cover of darkness. The police tape's cordoning off the area, but a group of dockworkers is loitering about, one of them daringly lifting the tape to go under it.
Rukia rolls her eyes and Chad eyes Ichigo for a reaction.
Ichigo's reaction is to pull out his badge and hold it out, like a mosquito-repellent, "Don't even think about it!"
The dockworker removes his hands from the tape as if an electric current ran through the makeshift fence. They hurriedly move away from them, muttering between themselves.
"Maybe they've seen something," Chad suggests and Ichigo sighs, knowing he's probably right.
"This type of offender might want to revisit his crime scene, so it's entirely possible. He's also likely to inject himself into investigation – contact the press or come forward like a witness, something like that," Rukia chips in and shields her eyes against the blank, white sky.
Ishida's just looking around, apparently content with not contributing.
Ichigo nods once, "Chad?"
Chad grunts in affirmative and stalks away towards the still whispering group of potential witnesses.
Rukia squints and points to the container, "He was found there?"
"Yeah," Ichigo confirms.
"Some present."
"Tell me about it," he cracks his shoulders.
Seagulls are gossiping with each other, sitting on every available surface. A group of them is lounging on the cold, wet asphalt. The rain stopped falling halfway to the harbor and now there's only puddles and a cold shine to every surface it touched.
"What's inside the container?" Ishida asks then and pushes his fringe behind his ear. His glasses catch the soft blue and pink light in a sharp flash.
"Sorry?"
"You said you got a present, no? Wouldn't the victim be more of a card than an actual gift if he was nailed to an enormous steel box?"
There's something in his tone of voice, like he's surprised Ichigo hadn't thought about this sooner, like he's better than him. Ichigo clenches his jaw and hopes a seagull shits on his head.
"It's worth looking into," Rukia says and hails Chad back.
"What's up?" he asks when he returns.
Ichigo answers, "Probie thinks there might be something inside the container."
In return, Ishida rolls his eyes.
Rukia elbows Ichigo in the ribs and he knows he's supposed to be the professional, the supervisor.
"CSU left the ladders and all that, yeah?" he offers and starts towards the ship on which they're stored. Since he gets no affirmative, he assumes that nobody knows.
He lets Rukia and Ishida go first, then himself and then Chad lastly. Which is a rookie mistake, because it turns out that Ishida's backside is a lot more appealing than what's fair. So Ichigo spends the entire climb forcing himself to look elsewhere, trying to remember he's a decorated lieutenant and that Ishida's a pain in the ass and suddenly he's back to looking at the rusty ladder and chipping paint.
The wind is greasy and tugs at his hair. It's refreshing but filthy. Five seagulls fly off when Rukia steps up on the container, screeching at them. The view's gorgeous this high up. They can see Tokyo's skyline slowly appearing from the morning fog, like an army come to reclaim their lands.
The containers are stacked precariously; it seems, like a game of Jenga that's gone out of hand. They're standing on a strange sort of pyramid 20 meters up in the air, the container in question standing proudly on top as if nothing's wrong.
Ichigo goes to it, finds the door to be right in front of them. Chad comes over, without a word, and then they force open the doors. It's heavy and loud, scraping across the metal of the container below it. Rukia winces at the whine.
"You stay here," he points to Ishida who looks like he's about to protest, but clamps his opinion down and turns towards the ocean instead. His entire stance scream insubordination and disrespect. Ichigo hasn't even had the chance to earn it yet and the asshole's already written him off.
Why did the most attractive person to come along in a long time also have be an unmitigated asshole?
The smell is what hits them first. Once you've smelled death and the tangy smell of blood and violence, you always know what it is. It's something they don't tell you, but you become so fluent in the tongue of misery that you sometimes know without ever having to think about it. So when all three of them recoil and look to one another, it's a matter of seconds before Rukia hurries to call the precinct and get CSU to come down here again.
So far, it looks like the gaping maw of a rusting, pale yellow dragon. Ichigo finds his flashlight and turns it on.
The cone lands on a chair. It's been fitted with restraints and most of it looks medical grade, completely lathered in blood. The floor shines in an almost ominous way, dark red and contrasting the peeling, off-white interior.
"ETA?" Ichigo calls out to Rukia who holds up two fingers, then changes it to five. Ten minutes out then.
He slips on his blue latex gloves, always present in his pocket.
"You can't go in there yet," Chad says, knowing it's a lost cause. Ichigo's already taken the first step inside. He steps around the blood-red lacquer, presses himself to the wall and tip toes on the white, dry patches. There's footsteps imprinted in it.
He shines the light in every corner and every crevice, looking for any kind of the victim's possessions, teeth or wallet. There's neither.
"You find anything while contaminating our crime scene?" Rukia shouts in after him.
"Not so far," he answers and can physically feel her exasperation. "And yet."
He spots the tape on the chair. It's an old cassette tape. He picks it up carefully, it sticks to the chair but otherwise spitting clean.
"Anybody have a cassette player?" Ichigo asks as he walks out of the container.
"Back home," Chad answers and of course he does. Ichigo hands him the tape and Chad studies it, turning it over and almost even smelling it. Ichigo wouldn't be surprised if he licked it and told them when it was made, but he doesn't, because Chad has dignity.
"It's a regular Sony. I have a bunch of these back home, they're relatively cheap."
"Brilliant," Rukia sighs and scrubs her face. "I hope your secret admirer put something good on it."
Chad bags it but hangs on to it for now. Ishida hasn't said anything since Ichigo had him stay put. He's still watching the ocean, sometimes turning towards the harbor if there's a loud noise.
"Probie?" Ichigo calls.
Ishida's shoulders visibly sacks. "I have a name," he argues.
"What do you make of this tape?"
Ishida comes over and picks the bag out of Chad's hand. He gives it a quick onceover, turns it and repeats.
"It's addressed to you," Ishida says and hands it back to Chad.
"Keen observation," Ichigo can't help but noting.
"Besides that, it's a type II cassette and if whatever's on here was recorded onto it without using a hi-fi separate, it's going to be distorted."
Ichigo automatically looks to Chad who nods a little belatedly after checking the top of the tape.
Under them, vans and police-cars begin to trickle out. The CSU files out, quickly gathers their equipment and begin hoisting it all up onto the ship and the containers. The CSU almost scowls at them as they pass them. When they see the tape in Ichigo's hand, they practically glower.
"What have we told you about not wading into our crime scene," one of them growls, "Kurotsuchi fucking hates it. We fucking hate it. You should stop fucking doing it!"
Ichigo's used to that tone. He sees Ishida lift an eyebrow and then simply watching them as they set up their gear and begin suiting up.
"We should stop by your place and get that player," Ichigo says and turns around. Rukia and Chad follow him, Ishida keeps looking at the CSU another second before he turns and heads towards them.
Ichigo takes a deep breath of smog-induced and greasy air and starts down the ladder.
"Kurosaki," Ishida says and Ichigo looks up like he was Pavlov's dogs, because he's never heard his name said like that before. It's oddly temperate and yet soothing. Then he sees Ishida's eyes on him, intense and so fucking blue, but he drops them to the ground, where someone has dropped a pen.
It rolls towards him, Ishida steps out of it's way and then looks back to him. Ichigo swallows, but hurries to step off the ladder in favor of picking up the pen.
"Are you done with that?" one of the techs asks.
"No," Ichigo brushes him off and finds his phone.
He flips it open and speed-dials Keigo. "The office of awesome, what's eating at you?"
"You said the loading was digitized, yeah?"
"Would I lie to you, Ichigo?"
Rukia pokes her head up, about to ask what's going on, but Ichigo quiets her with a single finger, because he needs to hear what Keigo says now.
"Keigo, is there any way to check if our container's not supposed to be on this ship?"
There's a storm of keys being pushed and clicked, "Hold please."
And Ichigo does.
"What's the container's tracking number? It's on the right door, top right corner."
Ichigo pushes through the crime scene unit and closes the right door enough to see the number.
"MSKU 070 268 2," Ichigo answers.
Ishida frowns, "That's not an Isewan container."
"It's registered to Maersk and it was reported stolen from Shizuoka a month ago. I'll try digging up the report on this and see if there's anything in it that might help," Keigo says.
He waits a second before he adds, "He might've planned this for a very long time, Ichigo."
"I know," he answers, "We'll see you back at the precinct."
He shuts his phone and puts it in his pocket. He looks up and meets Ishida's eyes. He gives him a simple nod and then turns to the ladder again.
"What was it?" Rukia tries and when they've climbed down, once again, Ichigo's in the choice position of having a plain view of Ishida's legs and lower back again. It's sad that it's the highlight of his day, really.
"The container is stolen," he tells her as they head back to Chad's car, which have been blocked completely by the CSU. Their revenge is a petty one, because Chad might be a delicate driver, but he maneuvers like no other, so the joke's on them.
"When?" Chad pursues and starts the car, twisting in his seat to get the best vantage point.
"A month ago in Shizuoka."
Nobody responds to that. Ichigo knows what they're thinking anyways.
"Your container was stolen from Shizuoka?" Mizuiro pushes him the minute they're through the door.
Chad puts the tape recorder on his desk and start hooking it up. The tape's with the lab, quickly swapping for DNA or fingerprints, but looking through the lenses of realism, there's probably nothing there.
Ichigo nods, "Yeah."
"I got a hold of the lead-investigator and he told me that it's not missing. They found it a week later, but never cleared up the report."
Ichigo stops in his tracks and looks at him, frowning, because he doesn't understand how that's possible.
"I read about that," Ishida pipes up then, leaning back in his newly appointed chair. "The container's aren't stolen, but their tracking numbers are."
"They're used to smuggle drugs in a legal fashion," Mizuiro continues, "The container's logged to carry cars or furniture or whatever and then it's not checked. They're called Ghost Containers."
"Oh, God," Ichigo sighs, because there's only one way this is going. "Yakuza?"
"Yakuza," confirms Mizuiro.
Ichigo dumps into the chair and swirls it once, "The good news?"
Mizuiro lifts a pile of manila-folders, "Suspect pool. I also compiled a list of missing persons reports. Might get a hit there."
"Probie?" Ichigo takes the folders and opens one of them.
Ishida looks up like he'd rather take a knife to the gut, "What?"
Ichigo's starting to wonder if they're going to have an attitude problem on their hands real soon.
"You're familiar with facial recognition software, yeah?"
"Yes," he answers and looks rightfully suspicious.
"Load of shite, doesn't exist." Ichigo watches his face remain stoic. Most probies crumble when they realize they have to manually look through every file in order to get a possible ID of their victim.
"I figured."
"Good, you start with the ones Mizuiro's found for you. If that doesn't work, go further back, widen the perimeter." Ichigo opens the first of his own pile.
It's a mean bunch Mizuiro's dug up. They're all previously convicted of violent crimes, some having butchered entire families, some torn their girlfriend to shreds. Quite a few of them are excluded out of pure stupidity. Inoue's missing fingertip suddenly makes sense in this company.
Chad takes one half of the files and Ichigo smiles at him.
It's hard sitting and reading about all the terrible things humans do to each other, doing it in a stuffy precinct without any air conditioning is not adding to the experience. Chad has taken off his shirt and is now reading the files in his undershirt. He had an arm-piece done four years ago. He was almost kicked out of the force because the superintendent worried that he might have yakuza ties. It's a fucking heart with wings and a snake, reading Amore e Morte. Ichigo had vouched for him, had known Chad would never support those fuckheads. If Inoue, Rukia, Mizuiro and Keigo hadn't joined ranks though, Chad might have been fired.
Truth is, you rarely got a tattoo unless you were yakuza and that stigma still hangs around it like a poisonous fog.
Ichigo wipes his forehead and rolls his shoulders. He feels the fabric stick to his back and he breathes out, runs a hand through his hair. Rukia's off pushing the yakuza angle with her own people. Probably bringing in Renji as well.
Ichigo looks over to see Ishida completely emerged in the different casefiles. Ichigo wonders if he's even reading them, because he doesn't have the same folder in his hands for more than five minutes. He's loosened his tie and crossed his legs, sitting more like a captain than a lowly probationary agent.
He realizes he finds that incredibly attractive and immediately shoots his eyes back to his own file. The face of one lanky, thin man stares back up at him. He resembles a snake, looks slimy with his long, black hair. And he keeps his collar up, which has Ichigo label him as an idiot right then and there.
"Look at this asshole," Ichigo leans back and shows Chad, who lifts his eyebrows and hums.
Ishida looks up, but doesn't ask to be shown, and so, Ichigo doesn't.
"Ichigo, can I speak with you?" Rukia interrupts their juvenile fun and Ichigo closes the file with the rather unattractive male who has a definite overbite and stands. He follows her into the breakroom.
"What's up?"
"I spoke with Renji and he'll look into the yakuza angle as much his clearance allows."
Ichigo frowns, "Why only as much as his clearance allows?"
"Some of the captains doesn't think the yakuza's involved and that we'd be wasting precious resources looking into it and locking ourselves this early," she shakes her head.
Ichigo scoffs. It's the same old story, really.
"Our evidence isn't conclusive. When it is, they'll help."
"When it is, there'll be more victims."
"You know how they are," she tries, but Ichigo shakes his head.
"Yeah, doesn't make it easier to chew though."
Rukia raises her eyebrows quickly, as if saying, tell me about it. She turns to the coffee maker and presses for two cups of joe. While she looks for two cleans cups she tells him, "I read his file."
"Ishida's?" Ichigo questions and opens the thirds cabinet and reaches in to find two cups there. It's easy to see Rukia doesn't belong in this department. Any cop worth their salt knows where the good china is.
She hums, "He graduated top of his class," she says and lets Ichigo take over, which is a rookie mistake. He hands her the cups, because he knows that if they're going to want coffee, she'll be the one to make it. She rolls her eyes but accepts the responsibility.
"So top of his class? Only makes him a smartass," Ichigo finds the milk and sugar, knowing she takes her coffee contaminated.
"It makes him an asset," she corrects him and takes the additives. "He also broke the track record."
"Good. He can outrun the psychos until he gets his weapons qualifications."
"All I'm saying is you should read it. He's a resource, Ichigo."
Ichigo pours the coffee and smirks at her, "What does that make you?"
"Your God-given solace."
She turns on her heel and heads for the bullpen. Ichigo follows dutifully and sits back down at his desk. Rukia sits down on top of it and sips her coffee. Ishida eyes them both shortly, but then goes back to reading. The piles have only grown in size since Ichigo left to get coffee, so he assumes Mizuiro has been by with another load. His own, thank God, has only shrunk, because Rukia isn't the only Godsend around here.
They drink their coffee to the sound of pages turning, while Ichigo wonders exactly how much of a shitstorm this will land him in. And exactly how much Ishida beat his record with.
It's dark outside before Ichigo looks at the time.
The tape had come back around noon and they'd all gathered around to find out what prophetic clues they might hear. Ishida had stayed put, his legs now on the desk, stretching them for the entire world to see and Ichigo really wanted to tell him to be decent, but he was afraid that would make him look like a prude for not allowing people to throw their legs on their furniture, even when they were as endless as Ishida's.
When Chad had pressed play, it had sounded like all Hell had broken loose. The noise was shrill, scratchy and loud. Ishida almost fell out of his chair, which was rather endearing. And then Ichigo stopped that line of thinking and returned to being the goddamn professional he pretended he was.
After that fiasco, Chad had transferred the file onto his computer and had then spent most of the day adjusting levels, fixing the noise and whatever needed fixing.
During lunch-break, Inoue came up from the morgue to eat with them. She sat down next to Ishida and talked to him like they'd known each other forever. His entire demeanor changed with Inoue. Ichigo was starting to buy into the idea that it was just Ichigo he didn't like.
Mizuiro dropped by three more times throughout the day to hand Ishida more missing persons. To his credit, he didn't even flinch when the pile was dumped onto his desk. He soldiered on which Ichigo had to admire him for.
Late afternoon, Keigo had emerged from his lair and told them who managed the Qinghai Container Terminal security.
"Blue Cross Security," he'd said as he'd marched through the bullpen, waving a thick file in his hand.
"Blue Cross?" Chad had repeated, "That's pretty high-end for a harbor."
"I know," Keigo said triumphantly, "but it's them. I had to backhack the camera's security feed, because I also found out that they transmit their data to a server at the Blue Cross Headquarters."
"You're saying we might have footage from the crime scene?" Ichigo asked.
Keigo smirked, "That is indeed what I'm telling you. Mizuiro's on the phone with them now, arranging the hand-off. Who's your daddy?"
"You are my daddy, Keigo, you are definitely my daddy," Ichigo replied laughing. Keigo fistbumped him and then left, presumably for Mizuiro's office.
They'd ordered take-out for dinner. There'd been no Yahtzee with the tape, no ID on their victim and Ichigo's suspect pool had been narrowed down, but it was still far too vast for any actual arrests to be made yet. Worse was that all these perps usually worked alone and Rukia had, like Inoue, pointed out that they were probably looking at two or more offenders.
Stealing a container wasn't a one-man job and no yakuza ever really worked alone, but pulling off something like this usually credited one person, not smearing the entire family. This case was beginning to give him a headache.
Chad left first, then Mizuiro had clocked out at 7pm, Keigo following at 7.30. Rukia had stayed until 8pm but had been yawning like a mad man the past hour and so Ichigo had sent her home. Tatsuki had swung by telling him to go and get some sleep around 8.30 and Inoue had been by saying goodnight to them both a few minutes later.
Ishida hadn't moved in the past hour.
Ichigo's standing, looking at their murderboard. It's dangerously empty. He's on his 6th cup of coffee for today and is debating whether or not he should go get another.
Ishida closes the last file on his desk. He's been reading at a more leisurely pace, since the threat of more incoming files have gone home. He stretches and the shirt might as well have been see-through for all the secrets it reveals about Ishida's body. He gets up, puts on his jacket and swings the messenger bag across his shoulder, flicks off the lamp.
"I'm leaving," he informs, as if Ichigo doesn't have eyes.
"Thanks for your hard work," Ichigo responds and rubs his eyes.
Ishida pauses, "You too."
He rounds the corner, but then looks back at him and seems to make a decision, "You should go as well, you won't be worth anything tomorrow if you stay."
And then he leaves.
Ichigo shakes his head with a tired sigh. He's pulled the same kind of hours Inoue has, 17 hours straight is really not that big of a deal. But if he has to pull 17 every day for the rest of the month, that'll be some torturous shit right there. He decides to take the advice.
He goes to the break room and dumps the rest of the coffee.
Ichigo's apartment is humble. It's located near the Saginomiya station, only a minute or so away. He's used to the train coming and going every thinkable hour of the day.
It's a mess, really. He doesn't have much personal time, mostly because he chooses not too. There's laundry scattered everywhere, plates soaking in the sink and books open or waiting on every surface. Ichigo found reading crime novels was a nice way of relaxing, mostly because he figured out the entire plot within the first two chapters. He reads other things, but only when he's in-between cases.
He also has a cat. At least, some days of the week. Ichigo thinks she has a weekend home where she goes and gets spoiled. But she's here tonight, sliding in and out between his legs as he takes off his coat. He picks her up and carries her to the kitchen.
"Hungry?" he asks. He hasn't given her a name. She's just the grey and white cat that sometimes lives with him.
She answers him no and he puts her down and takes a beer for himself. He read that cats don't meow at each other, only at humans at that if someone, say Ishida, came over, he wouldn't be able to understand her.
At that thought he looks around. He most definitely doesn't want Ishida to come over and see this mess.
He uncaps the beer and sits down on the couch, turns on the TV and pulls his laptop onto his thighs. The cat jumps up and settles into his side. Ichigo begins to stroke her automatically.
He decides to look up the dating profile Rukia so graciously bestowed upon him.
He finds it first click and is rather appalled with what he finds. The picture is decent; it's from his 27th birthday and the entire gang is out celebrating. In the picture, Keigo and Mizuiro are slouching on him, both laughing, spilling their manly, colorful drinks all over. There's a hand belonging to Rukia down in the corner and there's a sliver of Chad in the left side. Ichigo himself looks happy. It's not too bad.
His information is, however. Rukia's been to his place a lot, Hell, she even lived there at some point. She'd seen it both before and after Yuzu had been by, appalled when Karin had told her about the state of his apartment. Yuzu had come, all fiery indignation, and cleaned the entire place. The cat had fled the scene and Ichigo was honestly relieved when Mizuiro called to tell him someone had died.
Rukia has therefore chosen to write, "The home of a person with a life and good baby sisters." Which was a lie.
As Ichigo read on, he discovered many things about himself he didn't know. He was a hunk, had a fulltime cat, had a life outside his job, liked the color green (which might have been true at some point, but today he'd be inclined to say blue), was straight (bi-erasure what up) and read poetry in his downtime (which, what?) but his favorite book was The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (which, alright).
He preferred religious philosophy or mythology when he needed something a little more meaty than Agatha Christie. He enjoyed letting people think he understood less than he did, Socratic irony and all that. He was a regular Columbo.
He then looked through the matches and those interested. They all seems shallow and fake.
His last girlfriends had been a sweet girl named Kumiko. They'd been together for more than three years until she broke up with him because she thought he was cheating on her with Rukia. Kumiko had been an art student, had been smiling and warm always. Something in her eyes sparkled like giggling and champagne.
He closes his computer and lets his head fall to the backrest. He should probably read Ishida's file, but he doesn't want to dig his hole deeper than it already is.
Because if he doesn't bullshit himself, he's attracted to Ishida and there's a slew of reasons why that's terrible. But there's something in the way Ishida moves, like he's a dancer to his own beat and watching him makes it hard to breathe. Oh, and so far Ishida seems to hate him.
And he's Ichigo's subordinate.
And he's an asshole.
Ichigo sure knows how to pick them.
The cat's purring next to him, the TVs showing infomercials and he decides he might as well watch it. He falls asleep on the couch, the cat keeping him company throughout the night.
Waking up was slightly less inspiring than falling asleep, seeing as he was woken by the cat kneading his shoulder. He strokes her while coming into consciousness, feeling the cat's purring reverberating in his chest. The TV's still running, he checks the time in it's corner and groans.
The worst thing isn't that Ichigo has another two hours before he has to leave, but that this by no means is an isolated incident. He tends to be so knackered he falls asleep on the couch and is then woken by the cat well before Tokyo even gets it's eyes. No, the worst thing is that he wakes with a boner and he's pretty sure he knows who put it there. Sometimes Ichigo hates how impressionable he is.
He showers, he wanks – and if he thinks about long legs and blue eyes, who's to judge? – brushes his teeth and toasts some bread. He eats it slowly, looking out the window into the never-ending rainy streets with the cat sitting on his shoulder, watching it with him. His coffee is lukewarm because his coffee-machine has broken down like another rollercoaster ride on Coney Island. He pats the cat on the head and decides he might as well leave for the precinct.
Morning's are always grey, he finds.
Ichigo decides to walk as not to be ridiculously early, giving him no excuse not to look at the mountain of paperwork that's still sitting at his desk, waiting for him to finish. He makes it to the precinct in forty minutes and paces himself to walk calmly and take the elevator. He arrives at 7.00am as he was meant to all along. He throws his rain-dusted jacket over his arm and runs a hand through his hair, brushing out the worst of the water.
Entering the bullpen is the same as clocking into a sauna. It's humid inside, more so than hot. The thunderstorm that seems to be causing this is nowhere to be seen and Ichigo can tell it's annoying most of his colleagues already.
Chad's already there, so is Rukia. Mizuiro practically lives here anyways and Ichigo spots him in the breakroom with Keigo, speaking softly amongst each other. Ichigo signals for them both to come over. It's about five minutes later when they do, because they thought to make coffee for them.
"We all here?" he asks and divests himself of his jacket.
Rukia shakes her head, "Probie's missing."
"Should I call him?" Mizuiro offers and flips open his ever-present phone.
"No need," Chad announces and nods towards the elevator. Ishida's just stepping out of it, pulling earbuds out and twisting them around his fingers. He looks windswept and tousled and it's nice, Ichigo thinks, knowing he's not bathed in chemicals to keep his appearance pristine.
He's wearing a suit again today, a dark blue jacket and pants, striped shirt and an off-white tie. Ichigo has to take a deep breath and remind himself, surely not for the first time today, that he's supposed to be a professional.
"You're late," he says as Ishida makes his way to his desk.
"Have you started the briefing yet?" he retorts, slipping out of his jacket and putting the satchel onto the desk.
Ichigo frowns, "No."
"Then I'm not late, am I?"
He sits down looking entirely too smug for Ichigo's liking.
"For future-reference, we start at 7am."
Ishida purses his lips, but doesn't say anything.
"Lab results have come back and there's very little to tell. There's no fingerprints in the container or on the tape, no DNA-evidence to run against our database. The shoe-print is too generic to get a match but we know the perpetrator is male from the size of it. We've already run our victim's DNA-profile, but no matches against it. We didn't get any results doing it longhand, so we're left with the tape for now," Rukia passes out a folder with the results while she speaks.
Ichigo skims the data and feels his shoulders grow heavy.
"I kept working the tape after I came home yesterday. I have a transcript of its contents," Chad says and tacks it to the board. It speaks volumes that Ichigo expected that he would. Nobody working at the Keishicho has much of a life outside it.
"Can we hear it?" Ichigo asks and steps over to the board, reading the transcript Chad has made and pins it up. It's chilling to say the least.
Chad only nods and presses play.
"Well, well, well. There's hope for them yet," the voice purrs. It feels as if the room drops in temperature right then and there. It's a little distorted, but the words are clear if a little pitched. He recognizes the cadence, the slithering quality of it.
He reaches over and pauses the recording. "It's the same guy that called me," he interrupts, but presses play again.
"I've devised a little game for you, Kurosaki Ichigo. I do so like games and I'm sure you do too."
Ichigo had played soccer during his college-years and he, Chad, Mizuiro, Inoue and Keigo still had a Dungeons and Dragons guild when their workload wasn't too pressing. And he's become a homicide detective, which often seems to be one big game of Cluedo. He swallows.
"I've taken the liberty to make a few rules, after all, what's a game without rules?" he chuckles. Ichigo keeps reading the transcript.
"There's ten rounds, nine really, seeing as the first one is coming to a close. Time is of the essence, Kurosaki, as I'm sure you know. Every round you get the chance to save a life. Should you fail to comply with the following rules, they will be begging for death right up until you find them, pleading with their captors to end their miserable existence."
Ichigo looked over his shoulder, saw Rukia take notes. Torture's sadly not very specific in the world of sadists. Ishida's frowning gently, as if lost in thought elsewhere. The only thing that kept Ichigo from calling him back, is the way he stares at the pile of missing persons.
"The rules are as following. Firstly, don't involve the public."
Mizuiro shakes his head, probably wanting to release their victim to the press, hoping someone out there would be able to put a name to him, a life.
"Secondly, don't try others for help. Your little band of merry men are of course exempt, I know how these investigations are. But going elsewhere, I'd consider that cheating after all the hard work I put into this little game of ours. That's it. I should think two rules would be sufficient and easy to remember, no? Even for an inbred of Shizuoka."
Rukis pauses again, "Not try others for help?"
"I don't know," Ichigo says. "Is that it?"
Chad shakes his head and presses play again.
"And last: A winged oxen there. A saintly old man appears. Play the loosing hand. Remember, someone's life is on the line."
And then the tape ended.
Ichigo and Rukia listen the tape another six times.
Keigo had immediately suggested he do a simple Google-search, to which Ichigo had shaken his head.
"Don't," he'd said, "We can't try others for help."
"The internet isn't somebody," Keigo'd objected.
Ichigo had rubbed his eyes, "I don't want to take that chance."
Keigo hadn't argued further, which Ichigo had considered a win.
Mizuiro had then asked, "What do you want us to do then?"
"For now, find out why he thinks I'm from Shizuoka."
Ichigo's born and bred Edokko, he's never lived anywhere but Tokyo. His youngest sister, Yuzu, has moved to Sapporo. She'd gotten a scholarship to go practically anywhere and had chosen the city of the winter festival. And beer. Apparently she'd become quite a connoisseur, she'd wrinkled the nose at the ones Ichigo had brought over last time the entire family was together. She'd then produced the most delicious batch of drunken chicken Ichigo's ever tasted and still had the gall to say it would've been better with actual beer and not watered barley.
"Can you make us some copies of this?" she asks Ishida as she hands him the transcript tightly written with notes. He doesn't say anything, doesn't even ask where the copier is. Ichigo frowns and watches him go.
"Should I take down your profile?"
Ichigo turns his head and sees her, lifted eyebrows and pure innocence written all over her features. He shakes his head, "Shut up."
She chuckles, sobers and uncaps her pen, "Well, he's smart. Probably well-read, confident bordering on cocksure and arrogant."
"It's his second day, we'll set him straight."
"And while I was talking about our suspect, your mind was in the gutter," she clicks her tongue and waves her pen in front of her, "Do I need remind you of how your last office-romance ended?"
It had ended with an empty apartment and a cat as his housemate. Sorry, part-time housemate.
"I told you it was a bad idea. She was too … too much of everything, really."
Ishida chose that moment to come back and that effectively close the conversation. He handed them both fresh, hot copies of the transcript, "Anything else?"
"Un-piling," Rukia says and nods towards the stack of folders on Ichigo's desk. They're reports. They're all roughed out, none of them finished and it's slave work. While it may not require brain to clean them up, it's a job that requires time and patience and being caught in a case like this with heaps and heaps of paperwork is death for the soul.
It's with a carefully blank face that he reaches out for the first and sits back down. He powers up the computer and starts typing.
Chad reappears and with him, he has a box of Dunkin' Donuts. Ichigo smiles, but it quickly becomes a grin. It's a tired stereotype, but there's nothing better than a boost of sugar with a terrible cup of coffee to sharpen your mind. They're handed out, Ishida taking a plain one, thanks Chad, and continues writing up Ichigo's reports.
"A winged oxen there, a saintly old man appears, play the loosing hand," Rukia repeats while chewing her donut.
"We all agree that this is a riddle?" Ichigo asks and picks up his cup of coffee. They all nod and he breathes out. "What do we have then?"
"A winged oxen, an old man and the last I don't know."
"It's haiku," Ishida adds from the sideline.
Ichigo nods, "Okay, so he's restricted by the rules of haiku."
"I wonder about the saintly old man. That's a loaded word, only religious connotations." Rukia wipes her hands on a napkin.
Ichigo nods, "Are we looking for a saint then?"
"Could be," Chad hums.
"Do we know any saints with sidekick-cows?" Rukia asks and Ichigo sits down next to her, taking a sip of his coffee.
"I remember my grandfather said the ox belonged to the saint of butchers." Chad dunks his pastry into the coffee. His grandfather was Mexican and a catholic. Chad grew up with him and was as such raised as a catholic. He'd been sent to his grandfather when he'd been five because his mother had developed an alcohol problem. His grandfather had taught Chad everything he knew about moral and ethics. Ichigo would say he did a damn good job of that.
"St. Luke."
Ichigo snaps his head towards Ishida who's still typing his reports, "What did you say?"
"St. Luke," he repeats and adds, "He's also the patron saint for surgeons and artists."
"There's a St. Luke's hospital not far from the harbor."
"That would be a perfect place to hide a dying person," Rukia adds.
"Where?" Ichigo demands.
"Chuo," Chad says.
Ichigo gets up and pulls on his jacket, "Come on."
He didn't have to mention the possibility of another life in the balance.
"Probie!"
Ishida looks up. He gets the message and quickly puts on his ridiculously well-fitting dark trench coat.
All four hurries out the door as if the Devil himself is on their heels.
The hospital smells like sickness and health, as death parting families and loved ones from each other. Something in the air throws Ichigo back to his childhood, those many days spend in the halls with his sisters running back and forth, left and right. The elderly patients seemed to love it when his father brought them to work.
His dad was a nurse. He has every credential and diploma needed to become a doctor, but Kurosaki Isshin had found that he made a far greater difference as a nurse. He once told Ichigo that he had relatives of his patients coming up to him and talking to him. They had been grateful to him, for the care he'd taken for their loved one. "We're getting busier and busier, Ichigo. Sometimes the best gift you can give someone is your time," he'd said a dark evening in October, when the rains had been falling and the leaves had been plucked from the branches.
Rukia looks around and draws a sharp breath, "How're we going to find a possibly injured person in a hospital?"
"I'm sure he's told us," Ichigo says and looks to Chad.
"Play the losing hand," he agrees and reaches for his phone, but stops. Calling Keigo with this might still be against the rules.
Ichigo rubs his eyes, "What game?"
"Cardgame, you don't have hands elsewhere."
"Are we sure it's this literal?" Rukia asks.
"Oicho-Kabu," Ishida exclaims.
Chad catches on, "Oicho-Kabu?"
"The losing hand, uh," Ishida stumbles, "8-9-3, it's a homophone for Yakuza."
"That can't be a coincidence," Rukia says.
Ichigo turns on his heel and all but runs to the desk, "Room 893, what ward is that?"
The secretary looks flustered, stutters but never says anything. It isn't until Ichigo takes out his badge that she types, corrects, types and then looks up, "O-oncology."
"The city of Tokyo thanks you ma'am," Ichigo smiles, strained but there. And they run. The reach the 800-hall and speed down the laminated floors. Rukia's running in heels, clicking and ticking all the way there, setting a desperate beat to their run.
"Wait," Ishida shouts then and turns, "Here!"
They gather outside the door, out of breath, hoping they aren't too late. Ichigo signals for Ishida to get behind him. He'll run point and secure and then have Rukia follow him. He unfastens his gun and while it's highly unlikely they'll shoot anybody inside, it's always a good element in persuading people to stop running or doing their evil deeds.
Chad opens the door and Ichigo steps inside, losing heart the minute he does.
"Ichigo?" Rukia calls.
"Yeah, it's clear," he pockets his gun and sighs.
The room's as clean and white as every last inch of the hospital, except for the wall directly behind the bed. In bold, red letters is reads, "Not fast enough."
A bag of blood had been thrown onto the floor, spilling its guts. Chad walks in and shakes his head, while he gets out his phone. He calls CSU.
Ishida slips around Ichigo to the bed. Ichigo wants to tell him off, to not disturb the crime-scene, but he has a feeling Ishida would call him a hypocrite and roll his eyes at him. And that has Ichigo stop. He doesn't want Ishida to dislike him. Doesn't want Ishida to dislike him more, that is.
Ishida picks up a frames photo, "It's his father."
"What?"
He flips it towards them and a by now familiar face peers back at them.
"I'll find the nurse and get their family details," sighs Rukia and leaves.
Ishida keeps looking at the photo as if he can tell every secret the victim ever had simply by looking at it. There's something oddly serene about the image.
"Hikaru?"
Ishida looks to the bed and then to Ichigo who, too, has frozen.
"Hikaru? Where's Hikaru?" It's like hearing the last grains in an hourglass talk. It's rough, quiet, tired.
"Hikaru's your son?" Ishida asks, kneels and looks to Ichigo again.
Ichigo walks over, but in that moment the CSU arrives and he's treated with the most potent glare he's ever received. And he understands. It's only been active in 36 hours but the absolute failure to provide viable leads and evidence has most of the CSU and Coroner's Office on edge.
Tatsuki had stopped by during lunch today and told them Inoue had called her last night to curse sulfur on this case. Shun had been in Kyoto with his job and therefor Inoue had no one to vent to. Ichigo was 75% positive that Shun knew some of the most intimate secrets of the NPA because of Inoue.
"Ishida-san," Akon, one of the few Ichigo didn't mind, called out. Ishida moves to stand, but an old hand reaches out before he straightened. Ishida pauses.
"Probie," Ichigo nods for him to come to them, but something had Ishida staying. He looks back down at the old man.
"Are you one of Hikaru's friends?" the old man asked, "is he with you?"
And Ichigo sees it. That spark of insubordination in his eyes. "Ishida, you–"
"Do you know where he is? He's all I have left, he's all–"
The old man's crying. They can hear his sobs, Ichigo thinks he sees tears tripping down his cheek. Ishida sits down again and takes the old man's hand, anchoring him almost.
"Ishida!" he hisses, one last attempt.
He throws one look over his shoulder and Ichigo knows Ishida isn't moving away on his own accord then, "He's dying."
Ichigo can't help but feel his stomach clench. The words over the bed all but screams in his face and then there's Ishida disobeying orders to sit through the passing, the very premonition that has Ichigo's blood simmering. He's about to say something when the old man says:
"You know Hikaru? Is he with you?"
Ishida nods, hushed and strangely gentle. The line of his shoulders has Ichigo press his lips together. He gets it. There's nothing worse than telling someone they've lost a child, that they're alone now, that they're never going to say goodbye properly.
"Thank goodness, thank you so much," the old man babbles and splutters. Ishida just sits with him until he quiets. The entire room falls and everybody waits. Something in Ishida shifts. He leans forward and presses his fingers to the throat of the old man.
"He's dead," he announces quietly.
Ishida gets up, almost solemnly and carefully makes his way back to the door. Akon huffs and shakes his head, as if to encompass every homicide-investigator in the box of shitheads that don't give a damn about work-politics and ethics.
Ichigo grabs Ishida and leads him outside.
Rukia's there waiting for him, but she reads his face and probably heard what went on from the other bystanders. She holds her peace and waits Ichigo out while he guides Ishida a little further down the hall.
"You disobeyed a direct order," Ichigo starts and he can tell Ishida's gearing up to be difficult. But then …
"You didn't see his face," Ishida says then, voice low and sad.
Ichigo sighs and rubs his face, "Next time I'll suspend you."
He turns and leaves Ishida there, but he feels the other's eyes dragging after him.
"We have a name," Rukia says when he returns.
And finally, it seems like the winds change.