CHAPTER 6

In which Souji Seta is given license to observe and record...

Detective Shirogane and Mr. Seta happened upon Ozu Vavasseur sobbing quietly in one of the many disgustingly lavish hallways on the 3rd floor. Despite the softness of the despairing noises he made, Souji found them to be surprisingly shrill...painful to the ears even. Souji Seta never considered himself to be a cold human being...a bit 'removed' from most situations, perhaps, but there was a very thick line between being slightly aloof and entirely unfeeling. He felt almost shamed that, given the situation, he was more preoccupied with the scratchy, high-pitched quality of the man's voice than with the tragedy that had occurred.

In terms of appearance, Ozu Vavasseur looked to be almost identical to what Souji Seta had originally imagined for a son of the late patriarch. Assuming that the grinning man with yellow-brown hair pictured in the estate's many portraits was Daiki Vavasseur, Ozu Vavasseur appeared simply to be his father deflated. He was much thinner than the girthy fellow that had taunted Souji from the gold-dripping walls of the manor, with very long spidery limbs. His shoulders seemed too broad for his body, leaving Souji speculating that he stuffed the top portion of his shirt. Fashion-wise, Daiki and Ozu seemed eerily identical. He dressed as if a flamboyant, golden peacock on parade. His suit was as gaudy and garish as they came...bright, glaring red forming his trousers, vest, and dinner jacket with an eye-squinting sheen of golden silk beneath. He was accessorized to the point of absolute absurdity. More than a few thick, jewel-encrusted rings hugged around spindly, pianist's fingers. It was almost a wonder how the thin man could even left his hands with the weight. Dapper, yet florid and tasteless beyond belief.

He couldn't make out the look of his face, having buried it into a waiting handkerchief as he bawled and blubbered in long, whiny squeals...but his hair made it seem like Daiki Vavasseur had been scalped. Pale yellow-blonde...smooth and parted to one side.

Conspicuously, he'd been left entire alone. In fact, Souji hadn't seen a single police officer on this floor. He supposed he could've made a more refined analysis of the situation...but really, it was just easier to assume that the cop had fled to get away from that angst-ridden, ear-scraping series of wet, sniffling cries. Strange...it didn't bother him too much at first, but it lingered like a bad stink...resting in his ear canals and starting an echo.

Self-loathing...here, a man had lost his only father and Souji could only be bothered to think of words to describe the unique quality of his crying. He did his best not to show it. Then again, it wasn't his job to feel sympathy, was it?

He wasn't Leader...or Partner...or Sensei or Souji-senpai. He was Mr. Seta. He wasn't with Naoto, he was with Detective Shirogane. His job was to be useful to Detective Shirogane whenever he could. That was better, wasn't it? Better than feeling sorry for yourself and staring mournfully into your coffee cup. He steadied his breath and kept his arms lowered, eyes forward. It was harder than it looked. He had to fight the nagging urge to do something with his hands.

No one of either party said anything at first. Ozu wept...Naoto regarded him with a frown-ridden stare. She looked unimpressed...unamused. She regarded the drooling, weeping man as she would a child throwing a tantrum. "Mr. Vavasseur, it's quite alright. You don't have to pretend to cry..."

Mr. Seta gave a sudden, barely audible grunt...false veil of stoicism easily broken as his eyes darted to the detective. She always did have a tin ear for the feelings of others, didn't she? She even admitted it herself. Ozu's torrent of weeping paused abruptly. The detective ignored the reactions of them both and elaborated.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Mr. Vavasseur...but I don't believe I heard any sounds at all from this part of the floor until I was unusually close. I don't believe you began to 'cry' until you heard my footsteps approaching. Make no mistake, I am in no position to judge you in any way...so there's absolutely no need to-"

"Who...do you think you are? Who do you think I am?"

The man's voice took a drastic turn...shifting from sharp, brief shrieks to something a bit more 'gravely'...harsh, gritty, and with the coarseness of sandpaper. His handkerchief fell from his face, twisted and strangled by white-knuckled hands. There was no redness in his eyes. His stare was entirely dry and lucid. Seeing his face, Souji could discern a much larger difference between him and his father. Ozu's face was considerably longer...with a tapered chin, long nose, and very high cheekbones. His eyebrows were extremely thin and long...well-trimmed, apparently, and wrinkling into a hateful, angry expression. It was difficult to discern his age, though he didn't appear to be very old...then again, it was difficult to tell with people like this. What with age-defying surgeries, creams, injections, and whatnot...it was hard to make any definite judgments. He was of an appearance that denied age, in a way.

Ozu Vavasseur took several steps forward...cutting the distance between himself and the detective with reckless speed until his chin threatened to bump into her forehead. He wasn't a short man...standing at a sort of convenient middle ground between Naoto's less-than-impressive stature and Souji's own respectable height. Ozu stared down at the top of the detective's cap with gritted teeth as if to intimidate. His speaking voice wasn't nearly as skin-grating or obnoxious as his fake weeping, but Souji couldn't help but find it obnoxious, in a way. He was the kind of person who over-enunciated frequently...rolling his tongue and punctuating his words with an exotic flourish when unnecessary.

"You listen very closely, Detective. Look around, will you? This is my home...not yours. I live here, not you. You may see this place as just another crime scene to prance around in...or a big box full of people to ask unwanted questions towards...but I don't. I eat here, I sleep here, and I command great authority here. I don't care if you're a Shirogane! I refute you...and I-...eh...I'm sorry, but who is this?"

Ozu's attention turned towards the silver-haired man in the black suit. Mr. Seta had stood relatively still...though, as Ozu had moved forward, he'd lifted his hands from his pockets...elbows bent as if to come between the pair should anything physical actually take place. He hesitated only due to the detective own unflinching resolve...and also the fact that he couldn't help but notice that Ozu had misused the word 'refute'. Ironic, considering he accentuated it so forcefully.

Detective Shirogane retained her composure like a true master of her craft...even taking the time to readjust the balance of her cap before she gestured to the tall man standing beside her. "Pardon my rudeness. This is my associate, Mr. Seta. He is my personal assistant. He functions as a jack-of-all-trades, of sorts...transcriber, chauffeur, secretary, bodyguard..."

"Personal assis-...bodyguard?"

The foppish man looking upon Mr. Seta with a new sense of wariness...though, he didn't budge from his position looming over the detective. His eyes squinted...lips tightening as if to expertly appraise the detective's assistant. Mr. Seta just barely caught an elusive twitch of Naoto's eyes...an almost invisible fleeting glance. Was that a signal?

Bodyguard. Right. He was a bodyguard. Mr. Seta's expression hardened...closing his eyes with an eerie sort of calmness as balled one leather-hugged hand into a sizable fist, smothering it with his fingers and squeezing until it gave an audible, menacing 'crack!'.

Ozu yelped...yes, that'd be the word. A sharp, fluttery 'yelp'...as if he'd been jabbed with something that had been reddened in a fire. He jumped away from the detective as if she were dripping with something toxic, instinctively raising his hands as if to repel an attack. Souji found it to be an amusing reaction...almost surreal considering the fact that he had never so much as been in an actual fistfight with another person...unless you counted Yosuke, but that was something between friends. The man with the 9mm Browning may have also counted...but unfortunately, Souji couldn't bring himself to remember any of it. It was a shame...he wondered if he'd looked cool before he accidentally knocked himself out.

Cold, frightened sweat daubed along Ozu's forehead as he realized just how close he came to posing an immediate physical threat to the shorter detective. His voice cracked as he came to his own defense.

"W-w-w-w-w-what do you think you're doing? Threatening me? Do you...do you think you can scare me into confessing to something I didn't do with the use of this...this...overgrown tuxedo monkey?"

...Tuxedo monkey?

The detective was quick to quell the man's worries. "Rest assured, Mr. Vavasseur...that was not my intention. Mr. Seta is here only for my protection. Due to recent...'happenings', I have felt it necessary to heighten security around myself. He is not here for the purposes of intimidation. I apologize if you misinterpreted." Said despite the fact that the intimidation factor had been nothing but useful so far.

Is it the ears? I don't have large ears. Do I? No...no, I don't. Not at all...I don't think.

Ozu Vavasseur, despite having not been weeping, was a nervous ruin of a man. It could be seen now that he was also the type to communicate with his entire body...brandishing his hands to add visual, vaguely effeminate flavor to anything he said. It was oddly hypnotic. He balanced his chin delicately stop shaking fingertips...chewing upon his lower lip as his eyes bounced wildly about between the detective and the man in black.

He spoke on. "V-...very well. If you insist then...yes, I accept your apology. But...I still don't appreciate this kind of...persecution! I've already informed the police. I refuse to answer any questions at all unless the time is taken to escort me somewhere...'official'. I also demand the right to convene with my lawyers beforehand...which may take several days. I simply don't want my precious time to be wasted. I don't think that's unreasonable. Do you?"

This isn't even a tuxedo. You need a jacket for it be considered a tuxedo, right? Black tie monkey would make much more sense. Maybe 'black tie gorilla', since he's so caught up on the size thing.

Naoto shook her head briskly. "Not at all...ultimately, you're the only person who can choose what you do or don't answer. Even if I wanted to whisk you away for private questioning, I lack the authority to do so."

Then again...'tuxedo' is a common misconception for a suit like this, but he may not be focused on my size at all. 'Monkey' might fit. Maybe I do have a big ears...

Ozu laughed nervously...a rickety giggle as he gleefully writhed his pianist's fingers. He was an expressive one. "R-right, right...then, please be off. I'm afraid I'm not in the mood for anything like this. I would vastly prefer to be alone."

"Of course. Though, if I may say so...I'm quite impressed with your demeanor."

"Hm?"

"You're taking this situation with a surprising level of grace. If I was the top suspect in a murder investigation, I'd be spilling as much information as I possibly could to relieve some of the pressure on me. I'm glad to see that you're confident in your innocence. It's...'refreshing'."

Ozu's writhing fingers became rigid. "...Top suspect?"

Detective Shirogane nodded sedately. "You were aware of this, weren't you? Naturally, considering that you were the one to discover the body, a considerable amount of suspicion was automatically cast upon you. Adding to that, many of the officers have made complaints about your disposition. A good number of them are interpreting your behavior as being uncooperative."

Mr. Seta cocked a brow...pulled from his self-conscious inner monologue just as he was measuring the size of his ears against his fingers. He hesitated to think of Detective Shirogane as a liar. She was making assumptions...some broad implications...but lying? He wasn't certain...nor was he ready to raise an objection.

Ozu stammered...voice rattling halfway between his mouth and his diaphragm. "That...that is absolutely absurd!"

The detective shrugged. "Unfortunately, that's how many investigations go. It can't be helped. The police take very small aspects of a suspect's behavior into account as they deliberate making formal arrests. I, of course, have no direct say in such things...being only a private detective."

Ozu lurched forward as if to grip Naoto by the shoulders before he seemed to become aware of Mr. Seta's existence for a second time. He restrained himself...pulling back, straightening his tie, and whipping his wrists around as if he were an orchestral conductor as he spoke his plea. "W-wait...wait...you have no say, you say? But you can still talk to them, right? I...I'd be willing to answer some questions...well, as long you'd let them all know that I'm on the 'up and up'. They trust you, don't they?"

Mr. Seta took special note of the detective's exceptional look of satisfaction. It was an awkward fidgeting of her lips...a smile that one smiles when they don't want anyone to know that they're smiling. It occurred to him that he'd never really seen her do a proper interrogation of someone. If this manipulative set-up was of any indication...she had a special skill for it...and, perhaps more important than that, she obviously enjoyed doing it. He was in no position to question her methods...in fact, he may have even liked them, as deceptively sneaky as they were.

"...Very well." She agreed. "If you insist...then I would be more than happy to hear your side of the story, Mr. Vavasseur."

Ozu wiped the perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand and flattened his hair...tugging on the edges of his dinner jacket as he anxiously gestured for her to proceed.

Detective Shirogane stopped herself before she began...reaching into her back pocket and revealing a slick, ballpoint pen and a small notepad. She presented them to the tall man standing to her side. "Mr. Seta, if you'd be so kind as to transcribe for us. Feel free to paraphrase, but be sure to cover all of the main points discussed."

Seta blinked slowly...lips parting to say something before he decided against it and took the pen and paper into his hands. He hadn't had to do this before...though, the encounter with Fumie was hardly an 'official' questioning. No mention of anything like this had been made. He was forced to wonder if this had been something the detective herself had worried about before he came along...or if it was something thought of on-the-spot to keep the new employee busy.

It felt awkward holding them...the thick, leather barrier between the pen and his fingers causing him to fumble with it. A pen, not a pencil. He dreaded the notion of making a mistake he couldn't erase. He readied the pen, gently pressing the tip into the clean, white paper as he waited for his employer to begin.

"Mr. Vavasseur, why did you pretend to cry as we approached?"

"Wh-...I'm sorry, but...I was under the impression that you were going to ask me about...well, the actual crime and not..."

"If you would prefer not to answer, I can simply proceed with the next question. Keep in mind, however, that everything we say is being transcribed."

Mr. Seta tried not to grin. It was clever but cruel. Any more lack of cooperation was being especially noted by the man with the pen...even if he was struggling to keep up, scribbling at a frenetic pace before he gave into the temptation of paraphrasing most of what was said.

Ozu flinched and surrendered. "...I was...nervous."

"Nervous? About?"

"Well...as you've pointed out, I was already under suspicion since I happened upon the body, correct? I thought...that maybe not behaving emotionally enough would paint the picture of a...a callous person."

"So, you didn't want people to think that you didn't care about what happened to your father?"

Ozu winced...chewing at the tip of his thumb for a moment before answering. "...It really isn't like I...don't care that he's dead. I do! Really! Honest and for truly! I...at least, I can't say that I didn't care about him! But...really, I didn't think of him the way that most people do their fathers..."

She didn't reply. She waited, gesturing for him to continue.

"...I thought of him as less of a father and more of an...employer, perhaps. He signed my checks, after all. I did my best to remain within his good graces. If I didn't, he'd..."

"Cut you off?" The detective finished his sentence.

"It wouldn't be something beyond him."

"So, to clarify...you relied on your father financially to the point where he had ceased to feel like a father?"

Ozu hesitated...mouth open and finger pointed expressively to towards the ceiling before he closed it again. He repeated the motion...gulping at the air like a voiceless fish before he found the resolve to answer. "...I don't know...maybe. It doesn't sound very appealing when you put it in those words..."

The detective didn't take the time to process the man's feelings. She plowed forward...pressuring him, pursuing with a kind of single-mindedness shared by a shark that had caught the scent of blood in the water. Mr. Seta had never seen her actively question someone before. She was...frighteningly efficient. She spoke with fewer words than she normally would. Her sentences were shorter, faster...more direct and more difficult to honestly respond to. She didn't give Ozu much time to think.

"What can you tell me about the discovery of the body?"

Ozu's fingers curled in a claw-like manner, his fingernails bending in the direction of his palm. He began to scratch loosely at the throat of his golden, silk shirt. He took the question as if it were the least comfortable yet. "...I knocked on the door of father's study. There was no response, so I let myself in. That's...when I saw him dead."

"Time?"

"Time?"

"The time that you found the body?"

"...W-well, I don't remember exactly! Shouldn't the police have told you the time that the body was discovered?"

"I'm not talking to the police...I'm talking to you. This question is directed at you, not anyone else. At what time did you discover the body of Daiki Vavasseur?"

"...I don't...I don't remember exactly. It was just a few hours ago! What difference does it make?"

She didn't respond. She let him sweat before he finally gave the best reply he could.

"It...it was eight and something! Some time after 8:00 PM, I suppose!"

"Why did you go into your father's study?"

"To speak with him."

"About?"

Ozu gripped his shirt tightly...twisting and wrinkling the expensive material. "It's personal."

"So, you're deciding not to answer?"

"Absolutely not! I am answering! Hear me? My answer is that I was talking to my father about personal matters that don't concern you!"

"You won't elaborate on them?"

"...N-...no. No, I won't."

"Very well. I'll move on. Did you meet with Daiki Vavasseur at any time today? Before you discovered the body, of course."

Ozu's mannerisms were confused...flustered. His mind still seemed to be stuck on the question that had come before...deliberating if it would be better to answer it directly or abstain. Detective Shirogane didn't allow him the time to backtrack. "Y-...yes, I did. He was having dinner with clients. I joined them briefly."

"Briefly? Could you explain?"

"Briefly...I met with them briefly! What else do you w-...gahhh...I met with them for a short time, but I didn't have much. A glass of water and some bread...that's it."

"Your father...did he eat?"

"Yes."

"A lot?"

"I left around the time his food arrived. He'd ordered a lot, yes. He liked to eat. What about it?"

"What was it that he ordered? Do you recall?"

Ozu relaxed a bit. He seemed to find it much easier to answer when the focus of the conversation wasn't on himself. He smoothed out the fabric of his shirt as he gave his reply. "The restaurant was DiFabio's...it was his favorite. An authentic Italian establishment in the Shintate shopping district. He had a lot of bread...some wine. He ordered baked escargot as an appetizer. It was meant to feed the whole table, but he ate it all himself. I left around the time his actual entrée arrived. A full order of gnocchi with walnut pesto. He was also talking about ordering dessert afterwards. I can't say for sure if he did...but he always orders dessert. I've never seen him not order dessert...so I assumed he had something sweet to finish the meal off. He was a glutton. Poor man...it was beginning to catch up to him too. His doctor h-"

Detective Shirogane cleared her throat abruptly. Ozu frowned, pulled away from his tangent...dropping the subject. She'd heard what she wanted. Daiki Vavasseur had eaten quite a bit before the head maid supposedly brought him dinner.

"Where did you go after you left the restaurant?"

"Straight home and nowhere else."

"What time did you arrive here?"

"Hmph...4:40 PM, on the dot."

The detective verbally lunged at that. Her expression didn't change, but her words spoke her skepticism. Professional. "You remember the exact time you returned but not the exact time you discovered the body, correct?"

If Ozu were a cat his entire pelt would've stood on end. He bristled and bit at his tongue...but a glance towards the tall man busily scratching at the notepad kept him quivering in place. "...I was under stress, detective...you can't blame me for not remembering every last teeny, tiny, fleeting, floaty tiny detail, can you?"

Mr. Seta noted to himself that he'd used 'tiny' more than once in the same string of adjectives. He almost wrote it down...but paraphrasing it all into 'every tiny detail' saved him some time.

Detective Shirogane readjusted her footing. "I can understand that, yes. What time did your father return?"

"Tch...it was f-...it was about 5:00, I guess."

"Did he immediately retire to his study on the 2nd floor?"

"Yes...yes, he did."

"Mr. Vavasseur, is it true that, other than Daiki Vavasseur, only three people were allowed on the 2nd floor after 5:00 PM?"

Ozu's eye twitched. He almost seemed reluctant to answer...perhaps even considering skipping the inquiry over before he spoke. "...That's correct, detective, yes."

"For clarification, can you identify those three individuals, Mr. Vavasseur?"

"...Ozu Vavasseur...Aoki Vavasseur...and Yoshioka Yori..."

"Yoshioka Yori being the head maid?"

"Yes."

"And Aoki Vavasseur being your brother?"

"...Yes."

Detective Shirogane took a short pause...seeming to collect her thoughts and lowering her eyes. "...Mr. Vavasseur...I've had reasonably close ties for quite some time now. I find it very strange that, until this evening...I've never heard of an 'Aoki Vavasseur'..."

It wasn't difficult to tell that Ozu was bracing himself...trying his hardest to keep himself stern and unreadable. He wasn't very good at it. He grimaced and perspired beneath the pressure. "...Aoki's demeanor and interests were fairly conflicted with that of my father's. He isn't a dirty little secret or anything that dramatic...but he himself prefers to not be very high-profile. It isn't strange. He's no secret, but he's rarely brought up. He prefers it that way, so it's fine..."

"Demeanor and interests?"

Ozu turned his eyes away, thoughtfully dragging the tip of his finger across his lips. "He's...uh...well, he's always been very sickly. He doesn't get out much, I should say. Because of...various conditions, he never took to the kind of lifestyle expected for a Vavasseur. Both my father and I shared the same hobbies...fashion, fine food, golf. Aoki prefers...different things."

"Such as?"

"...Well, he reads a lot."

"Is that strange?"

"I-it's not important. He's interested in some very unique subjects that don't call for further discussion. I-I don't really get it myself..."

The detective nodded slowly. "So, allow me to clarify. I have not heard of Aoki Vavasseur because he prefers to remain low-profile, correct? His health problems and personal interests necessitate this?"

"...Yes...sure, that sounds about right."

The detective exhibited her discomfort with the non-talkative answers she received with a barely noticeable tensing of her shoulders. "...Daiki Vavasseur returned to his study around 5:00. You discovered his body, you claim, some time after 8:00. Correct?"

"...Hm...yes, correct."

"Considering that only three people other than your father would normally be found on the 2nd floor after 5:00...would you agree that it seems very likely the culprit is one of those three?"

Ozu scowled...showing his teeth and slapping his palms to his hips in a show of restrained aggression. "Listen here! Who isn't to say that whoever did it didn't come from outside!"

"Thus far, no footage of any intruders has been discovered in the estate's security footage. While I will not rule out the possibility that the culprit came from outside...it seems extremely unlikely, does it not?"

Ozu didn't respond...quietly backing down. The detective did not follow up on her question or demand a direct answer, simply allowing her inquiry to disappear into the air.

"Yoshioka Yori, the head maid...is it true that she delivered dinner to your father's study every day at 5:30 PM?"

"...Yes."

"She did this today as well?"

"Yes."

"Even after the apparently ample meal that your father had only minutes before?"

"Sh-...she just delivered it. Who's to say if he ate it or not?"

The detective's eyes narrowed...head tilted slightly to the side. A lapse in stoicism...a showing of genuine curiosity. "...Why would your father still have food delivered to his study even after having eaten? If he arrived at 5:00, he would've had plenty of time to inform the staff that he wasn't hungry."

Ozu's body tightened. No eye-catching twists of his hands or snobbish upturns of the nose. He withdrew himself...voice lowering and shifting to something almost monotone. "...I can't answer that."

"Why?"

"I'm not my father...so I don't know."

"...Yoshioka Yori then...is it safe to say that it's a fact that she had ample opportunity to kill your father?"

"Yes...yes, absolutely." His voice rose...the dandified heir worked into a more excited fervor, balling his fists as he agreed as energetically as he could manage. "She could've done it, yes yes...I wouldn't put it past her. Not at all, not at all. She's always had this...this this...this twisted sort of relationship with my father. I don't know why he even kept the vulture on staff! She...yes, she should be top suspect, not me! You can go tell that to the police..."

"I see...then, your brother, Aoki Vavasseur...at any time, did he enter your father's study after-"

"He didn't do it."

"I didn't finish my question, Mr. Vavasseur."

Ozu shook his head soundly. "I know where your so sneakily steering this conversation, and I shall tell you right now that it's impossible. Aoki Vavasseur did not kill our father."

"I see. You're cert-"

"Hemaphobia."

The detective rose her head...exposing her eyes to the man in front of her. "Excuse me?"

"Hemaphobic...Aoki, he's hemaphobic. He's scared of blood...faints at the sight of it. If you'd seen the crime scene, you'd know..." Ozu's face grew pale...suddenly moving his hands to hug pitifully at his sides. A look of sickness overtook him...hunching over just slightly as if his stomach pained him. "If you'd scene the crime scene...you'd know that there's absolutely no way for Aoki to have done something like that without fainting..."

(AN: Slightly short and uneventful...but since it was a decent cut-off point, I wanted to go ahead and update. Again, thank you all for the feedback. This has been my slowest time updating, but I'd like to get into a fast rhythm again.)