THE THINGS WE DO FOR LOVE
Chapter 2: "Crime Scene Investigations"
By Bill K.
It was seven in the morning. Stumbling out of bed, frazzled and bleary-eyed (yet still obscenely gorgeous in her own opinion), Minako Aino trudged to the bathroom. She would occupy the room for the next hour and a half, then wolf down her breakfast in under a minute and rush to the studio to begin today's filming of her television series "Island Princess". Artemis observed the entire tableau from his spot in the corner. He returned to the chicken and liver in his dish. After all, he had warned her last night not to stay up late - - and it wasn't like it was the first time Minako had started her morning this way. It seemed the only difference between now and the day he'd first moved in with her was that it was her lover Toshihiro repeatedly calling for her to get up and not her mother.
Toshihiro was in the kitchen making breakfast. Minako's portion would be put in a container and reheated when she finally emerged. As he worked, Toshihiro mentally blocked a scene for the situation comedy he directed for a living. His round abdomen brushed between the stove and the island countertop in the middle of the kitchen. He didn't want to think about the implications, but he had been able to fit in the space last year without difficulty. The quandary for him was always the fear that he'd grow unattractive to Minako versus the reality that he wasn't leading man material now and she still willingly shared his life and his bed.
"Chicken OK, Artemis?" he asked.
"Yeah, thanks," the cat responded. "I've always liked chicken with a little paprika."
"Want to take a bet on how long she's in there today?"
"I don't take sucker bets," Artemis chuckled.
Just then, the phone rang. Turning the heat down on the stove, Toshihiro moved to pick up. It might be the studio with some last minute actor histrionics. But, as Artemis curiously noted, the caller was an unexpected surprise to the young director.
"Minako?" he called into the bathroom through the door, holding the phone.
"I'll be out in a minute!" she called back, her standard excuse.
"Phone for you," Toshihiro reported. "It's the police."
"I didn't do it!" she yelled back.
"Can you take it, please? It sounds important."
"OK! Bring the phone in here! You've seen me naked! We can use toilet paper if you get a nose bleed!"
"Very amusing," Toshihiro grinned cynically. He handed the phone in to Minako. The woman was sitting on the commode with a razor in her hand and shaving cream on her legs.
"Hello?" Minako inquired into the phone. "Superintendent Sakurada? Of course I remember you. I get a fan letter from you practically every week. If this is about tickets for the taping . . ." Minako listened. "Me? Well, yeah, I guess. It'll have to be after taping, though. Is that OK?" She listened again. "No problem. I guess that does fall within my 'other line of work'. I'll call you after taping so we can meet."
"What's up?" Toshihiro asked. By now Artemis was peering in from the doorway.
"That was Metropolitan Police Board Superintendent-General Natsuna Sakurada," Minako related. "Get this, Artemis: she wants, and I quote, 'her wonderful V-chan' to consult on a murder investigation. You know, those murders they're having at that hospital?"
"Sakurada?" Artemis gasped. "Wow, haven't heard that name in a while."
"Yeah, and if SHE'S asking for help, she must be stumped," Minako mused.
The morning was looking bright and sunny from the view of Rei Hino. The night in Roppongi had been an enjoyable one. The thought of her engaged in a karaoki duel with two middle-aged salarymen while the bar patrons cheered them on brought a girlish giggle to her lips that hadn't emerged in years. It hadn't even mattered that she'd won by acclamation - - OK, yes it did - - the night had just been wonderful. It was too bad her finances were too tight to let her do it again anytime soon. Rei felt the urge to go again that night.
Deimos and Phobos appeared out of nowhere. Phobos landed on a nearby post, while Deimos, as she always did, assumed it was her right to perch on Rei's shoulder. Rather than scold the bird, Rei just stroked her feathers. Though it was going to be another hot July, the gardens of the shrine were in full bloom and nearing the beauty her grandfather had achieved. After his death, the gardens had diminished for a few years. Rei didn't have her grandfather's horticultural touch and she knew it. At first it hadn't been important to her. But after a few years, the priest realized part of the charm of Hikawa was the gardens her grandfather tended so obsessively. With the help of a book Ami had recommended, Rei had studied up until she knew what to do to bring the garden back to past glory. This was going to be the first season the gardens measured up to what her grandfather had done. Rei noticed that people were coming around again, returning as the beautiful flowers and trees returned. That was good, but that was a bonus. She'd done it to honor her grandfather, because there weren't enough ways on Earth to honor his memory in her mind.
"Hello, Sensei," she heard a voice say. Immediately the two crows flew into the trees. Turning, Rei found the black man from the previous night. "The gardens of this shrine look even more beautiful in the daytime."
"You're the baseball player from last night," Rei said. "It's a little early for someone like you to be up, isn't it?"
"I suppose," he nodded indifferently. "I guess I had something important to do."
"You must really like gardens," Rei commented.
The man smiled. "Actually, I felt I owed you an apology for last night. Kozoma was pretty drunk and we all were acting pretty badly, given the surroundings. My mother always warned me about acting up in church. Well, because of that, I think we got off on the wrong foot. My name is Derek Johnson, Sensei. You have a very lovely shrine."
The entire time he spoke, Derek noticed Rei was staring at him intently. It seemed like she was searching for a reason to dislike him. He chalked it up to her being mistrustful of strangers - - or perhaps Americans. But when he finished, he noticed that her expression seemed to soften.
"Welcome to Hikawa Shrine, Mr. Johnson," Rei said, almost smiling. "I am Rei Hino. You're welcome to come here whenever you wish, though I don't imagine you practice Shinto."
"No, Baptist," he chuckled.
"You speak pretty good Japanese for an American."
"Well, this is my second year with the Giants," he told her. "The club provides the foreign players with an interpreter, but I thought it would be better to learn the language - - particularly if I'm going to be here a while." They began to walk along the paths. "So how does someone like you end up a priest?"
"Someone like me?" Rei bristled. "Because I'm a woman?"
"Because you're so pretty," Derek responded. "I would have figured someone like you for a model."
It was smooth talk and Rei could sense it. But she also sensed the sincere attraction behind it. She felt her heart flutter and that surprised her. Years of practice allowed her to mask that she'd seen something.
"Consider it a family calling," Rei admitted. "Both of my grandfathers were priests and my mother was a shrine maiden of some note."
"And your father?"
"Let's," Rei grimaced, "not talk about him."
"Sorry."
Rei glanced up at him and could see his remorse was genuine.
"So where in America are you from?" she asked.
"Lawton, Oklahoma," he replied.
"Why aren't you playing baseball in America?"
"Trying to get rid of me?" he asked jokingly. Rei felt her cheeks flush and silently chided herself. "I played in the States. Played 'The Show'."
"The Show?"
"Major leagues. Two hundred twelve days over four seasons with three different clubs. Started in left for the Mariners for three months."
"What happened?"
Derek shrugged. "I always start slow. My average sucks until it warms up. Trouble is, you don't get much of a chance in The Show, and if you fail you get labeled. They said I couldn't hit major league breaking stuff. Sent me down to triple-A in June, just when I was getting the feel back in my bat." The man sighed. "I had nothing left to prove in triple-A. I hit twenty-six bombs in triple-A, with a three forty-six average the year before. But I went. Tore up the PCL. But I didn't get a call-up in September, so I knew the handwriting was on the wall."
"Why didn't they call you up?"
"I was twenty-eight," Derek replied with a hint of melancholy. "I wasn't a prospect anymore. I heard the talk, about how I was a 'four-A' player with no future in The Show. The only reason the Mariners gave me a shot in left was because their starter got hurt and I tore it up in August and September the previous year. They figured I was a fluke. So I got my agent to arrange a deal to come to the Giants. I figured if I tear up here, too, somebody in the bigs will give me another shot." He looked out over the garden. "That was a year and a half ago."
"Often the traveler must endure a rocky path to his destination," Rei said. "But to stop concedes that he will never reach it."
Derek smiled. "Yeah," he said. "I'm not done yet. Just have to keep cranking bombs. Thanks. You're not a bad priest at that. Like to see what you do for a Sunday sermon. Don't know if you could beat Pastor Davidson though."
"That sounds like a challenge," Rei smiled, her eyes twinkling.
"Maybe I'll stop in Sunday and see if you're up to it," Derek smiled in return.
With that, he ambled off. Rei watched him leave. Because of that, she saw him look back at her again, once more with that expression that he liked what he saw and wanted one more look.
And suddenly Rei was sorry he was gone. And that disturbed her. As she stared, Deimos flew back down and perched on her shoulder. The crow let out a sharp caw.
"You're a crow," Rei scowled. "What do you know about it"
The desk sergeant looked up from his papers at the attractive woman approaching his desk. She wore conservative jeans and blouse and shoulder length black hair. The woman had a striking face - - at least the part that wasn't covered by dark sunglasses. That's what struck him as odd. Why was she wearing sunglasses at dusk?
"Yes, ma'am?" the sergeant asked.
"I'm here to see Superintendent Sakurada," the woman said in a low voice. It was clear she was trying to be unobtrusive, which only made the police sergeant suspicious. "She's expecting me."
"And who shall I say is calling?" he inquired.
"Um," the woman paused for a moment. "Well, tell her," and the woman paused again. She was clearly uncomfortable with what she was about to say. "Tell her - - V-chan is here."
"V-chan?" the sergeant asked to confirm he'd heard her right.
"Yeah," grimaced the woman.
Fully expecting to be verbally reprimanded by Sakurada for this, the sergeant called up anyway. To his surprise, her response was as opposite to anger or impatience as it could be.
"She'll see you," the sergeant said. "Twentieth floor, at the end of the hall."
The woman nodded gratefully and slipped over to the elevators as quietly as she could. The sergeant watched her the entire way and it still didn't ease his confusion.
"V-chan!" Sakurada squealed as Minako entered the office with her wig and sunglasses in hand.
Sakurada hadn't chanced much: Long black hair with bangs, a slightly plain face with large penetrating eyes, and a generous but still shapely figure. She still favored black suit coats, white blouses, and black knee length skirts. Her only concessions to the woman beneath while on the job were a pair of aquamarine earrings and a crimson bow in place of a necktie. Normally the strict, efficient police administrator, her subordinates would have been shocked to see their chief race across the office and capture Minako in a bear hug while her eyes danced like a fourteen year old meeting her idol.
"Uh," Minako grimaced, as much from lack of air as from invasion of her space, "can we not handle the merchandise?"
"I'm sorry, V-chan," Sakurada said penitently, then sprouted her "fan-girl" expression again. "But you know how much of a fan I am of you! I tape your show and watch it three times! I bought your cd the moment it came out! I always knew you'd become a star and you are!"
"All very nice, and I appreciate it," Minako began, "but it's been a late day and it's an early start tomorrow. Can we get to this case?"
"Certainly," Sakurada nodded, moving to her desk. "Oh, but why the disguise? Are the papparazzi bothering you? I can have them arrested for you."
"That's OK," Minako sweat-dropped. "I just didn't want to see a picture of me entering the police station in one of the papers. Might not be good for the career."
"You know best," sighed Sakurada. She handed Minako a folder and suddenly became all business. "Here's all we have on the four killings. I made copies of the reports and photos for you. Physical evidence has linked the killings, but we haven't been able to find any other connections between the four victims other than their place of work. Last night's killing even had a different location, shooting down our best theory."
"Last night couldn't have been a copycat or a separate incident, could it?" Minako asked.
"It's possible, but right now there isn't any evidence supporting that theory," Sakurada said. "V-chan, this case has us stumped - - and I can't get the fear out of my head that this killer isn't done yet. That's one of the reasons I called you in. We need all the help we can get before this person strikes again."
"One of the reasons?" Minako observed.
"Well, when I found out that one of your team works at the hospital in her civilian identity," Sakurada said solemnly, "I assumed you'd want to be called in on this."
"One of my team?" Minako asked nervously. Sakurada smiled.
"V-chan," she said, smiling knowingly, "I'm smart enough to have deduced your identity, wasn't I? Once I knew that, it wasn't that difficult to figure out who the other sailor senshi were, given who your circle of friends suddenly became. Give me some credit. I didn't become Superintendent-General by winning a contest."
"Well, you got me there," Minako scowled, scratching her head. "OK, Sakurada-San, I'll call the others in and we'll look into it. Maybe between us and your department, we can get this guy."
"Thank you, V-chan. I knew I could depend on you," Sakurada beamed.
Minako got up to leave. She was in the middle of fixing her wig when Sakurada made an embarrassed little noise. Minako looked back to her.
"Um," Sakurada began timidly. "Do you think I could get you to - - autograph this CD?"
Minako reached for a pen. Sakurada began bouncing in her chair like a two year old.
An expert hand guided a blue Fiat into the garage next to the two-story residence on the quiet residential street. Climbing out, Haruka Tenoh stretched her long body. The Fiat handled like a dream, particularly after the modifications she'd made on it, and it certainly fit the image Haruka wanted to convey. It wouldn't do for a speed demon like her to drive a sub-compact. What would her fans say? But the low-slung Fiat could be taxing on long legs for long trips.
She fished her suitcase out of the trunk and headed into the home she shared with her love, Michiru. The race in Silverstone, England, had gone as well as it could have. Her car had been in peak shape and her tactics had been, for the most part, good. She'd seen the openings. It's just that a couple of other drivers had seen them first. Fourth wasn't bad. It was like her crew chief told her: Today the other guy got the breaks. She would win another day.
Seeing Michiru would help. Haruka always missed her when she had to travel to a race. Michiru accompanied her whenever she could, but that had been impossible for the last three months. Michiru was still recovering from the nearly terminal lung infection she'd suffered and strenuous activities such as air travel and breathing track exhaust were still out of the question. Only her assurances that she would be all right researching pieces for her new album of violin music allowed Haruka to resume her racing career. Haruka couldn't wait to tell her everything that had happened.
And she couldn't wait to tell her sister, Junko, either. In the three months they'd spent together, off and on, always clandestinely so as to avoid the wrath of Junko's parents - - her parents once - - the two had grown closer. Junko took an active interest in Haruka's travels, though probably not because she was a race fan. It was more likely that she was interested in Haruka's travels and the trappings of her notoriety. But whatever the reason, Haruka seemed to feed off of the girl's excitement and interest. And Haruka found herself smiling fondly at revisiting the trials of a sixteen year old in a world she couldn't quite understand and couldn't control. She found it gratifying to offer advice based on her experience. She even found it amusing when occasionally Junko would toss her advice back at her and tell her that she didn't know everything just because she was older - - though she wasn't nearly as amused when that happened as Michiru seemed to be.
"Babe?" Haruka called out as she entered the door. "I'm back!"
"In here, Haruka!" Michiru called from the room she used as her studio.
Haruka found her rising from a desk with sheet music organized into three very neat piles. Off in a corner was her easel with a blank canvas and several sketches pinned to the easel. Michiru was around the desk and coming to meet her.
The tall blonde took her in her arms and leaned in. Michiru rose up to meet her and their lips locked. There was passion in the kiss, but mostly it held gratitude for being reunited once again. The feel of Michiru's body against hers was a warm and welcome sense of security. When their lips finally parted, Michiru gave her a grateful smile and Haruka was back on the island with her.
"I've missed you," Michiru said and Haruka believed it. "How'd you do?"
"Fourth," she shrugged. "I took a pit late. Huerta gambled and stayed out on the track and it paid off for him. I'll get 'em next time."
Michiru was sympathetic and that gratified Haruka. Then the green-tressed artist seemed to sag under the weight of an unknown burden. Haruka sensed it immediately, but waited for her to explain. Silently, Michiru disengaged and went over to her desk. She picked up an envelope and returned to Haruka.
"This came this morning," Michiru told her, holding out the envelope.
Haruka took it. She opened it up and read the contents. It was a copy of a court order.
"On behalf of the plaintiff(s), Gert and Himeko Tenoh," Haruka read out loud to make sure she was reading what Michiru had read, "this court has issued a restraining order barring Haruka Tenoh from any and all contact with Junko Tenoh. This order extends from this date, July 9, 2007, until a hearing in this court on August 16, 2007, at which time it will be determined whether to extend this order to February 23, 2011," and Haruka looked up, stunned, "at which point Junko Tenoh will no longer be a minor."
Continued in Chapter 3