Chiba, Tokyo
June 11th
A frenetic, pulsing light coaxed Tota Matsuda from a restless semi-sleep, causing an uncoordinated arm to lash out, bash it's knuckles on the bedside table before closing over the tiny vibrating phone. Blue digitized characters spelled out 'Aizawa' and the eyes taking those characters in widened as a stone settled in Tota Matsuda's stomach.
"What-the-hell-is-this?" he grumbled, swinging his legs over the low bed, banging his knee for the ninety-millionth time. He limped into work these days—one pay raise a year wasn't enough to live comfortably in Tokyo and he'd known that coming out of college...not that it had stopped him from sticking with the same job for the better part of ten years now, but the truth of the matter was that he'd almost resigned/walked off/come-inches-from-being-sacked in the past month that seeking ulterior means of employment was not in the cards. After a while, the phone stopped buzzing in his hand and he sat on the edge of his bed with his pants on and his head in his hands. This was it. This had to be it.
Dawn was still hours away but the city still shot fitful bursts of neon below, persuading the not-quite-as-young-as-he-felt detective from the bed to the wide, sprawling window that over-looked scores of restaurants, hotels, the cram school on the corner and a multitude of other steel and concrete citadels.
Bzzz...Bzzz...Bzzz...
"Fuck, I'm coming...god." It wasn't every day that a guy woke up early to tear through morning traffic just to be on time to his own sacking, but seeing as he'd done it at least twelve times already, if Matsuda couldn't be anything else in life, he could at least be consistent.
On the way, he tried not to be angry at Aizawa. They were different men with vastly different priorities and the commander had already come down on Matsuda's side more than was occupationally healthy. They'd both paid their due amount of lip service to the brass to keep the checks coming every month, and sooner or later, one of them was bound to get the boot.
As the smooth stone and steel front of NPA headquarters appeared after a turn, Matsuda was more than a little heartened to see Ide, Mogi and Yamato waiting for him by the bullet-proof sliding doors. None of them were smiling exactly, but he could tell they were glad to be there. They had been through too much together. He pulled into the wrap-around driveway, creaking the car into park; allowing Yamato to open the door for him. The young man looked nervous, still too green to put up the mask that Ide and Mogi had long since mastered. There was something undeniably comforting to Matsuda about the idea that someone was having just as difficult time dealing with things as he was.
"Sempai..." Yamato said, letting the word taper off into worried mumbling. Matsuda shook his head, mustering the stupidest grin he could manage. Stepping out of the car, he slung a playful, companionable arm over Yamato's shoulder and did his best impression of one of those obnoxious American game show host types.
"Don't sweat it, Yamato-kun, for soon you too will be able to afford that most wondrous of luxuries...a one bed room Tokyo flat! Sell your car, sonny, you're in the big time now! With convenient access to the I, J and Yamanote lines! And," he added, "you get my office. That's a hell of the thing to pass up." Together, the four men stepped through the doors into the spacious lobby, illuminated in the early morning gloom by panels of pulsing halogen and beams of sky lights. Before any of them could make their way to the elevator, however, Matsuda rounded on them, looking stern.
"And that goes for all of you," he said, continuing his earlier thought, "I won't have you steeling my thunder by quitting right after the commander fires me. I see those resignation slips in your pockets."
Mumbling, Ide, Yamato and Mogi crumpled the elegant slips of white paper like discarded prayers, and tossed them into the closest trash can.
Before the elevator door opened to the third floor west corridor, two aggravated male voicessounded through the heavy metal doors. Commander Aizawa and the Vice Director of Special Investigations were arguing. Matsuda let out a steadying breath and set off down the burnished steel, navy and tan hallway at a brisk walk—not breaking momentum he strode up to the door from which the voices originated, knocked twice and stepped fluidly inside just before Commander Aizawa was about to say, "Tota Matsuda is the only man in this department with enough balls to acknowledge what's really going on here!' but had barely gotten past--
"Matsuda?" Aizawa greeted his entrance with a sort of enlightened surprise. He knew Matsuda well enough to understand that his professional life had just been saved by the young man's barely announced ingress. He accepted the last-minute save with a smile and motioned for him to sit, the smoldering, predatory eyes of the Vice Director watching him as if he would dart back out at the first sign of trouble.
"The Vice Director and I were just about to have a conversation it would be unfair to exclude you from, Matsuda-san." Aizawa said, sounding not the slightest bit threatening himself. Matsuda nodded, but was far from making the first move in the conversation. It was his job on the line and if there was any way of keeping it, it would be facilitated by not saying anything in his own defense.
"As I was telling the Commander," the Vice Director said after a short, irritated pause, "I understand that former Vice Director Yagami took you under his wing, Matsuda, and at the time, that was the right thing to do. Your insight into the case proved a vital moral staging ground for the whole team. But Yagami Souchirou is dead and his ideals should rest with him. It is the opinion of everyone in this department that you are too personally connected to the current investigation and the best course of action would be permanent reassignment out of this jurisdiction. Seeing as your kouhai is still rather inexperienced, Hideki Ide will replace you as his sempai. Do you understand?"
The balloon of righteous adrenaline that had carried Matsuda through the door and to his seat deflated slowly from his chest, leaving him with a displaced feeling of jittery motion. The energy that would have gone into an explosive tirade of indignant offense was no longer there. He blinked.
"You mean, you're not firing me?"
"That could still be arranged Matsuda-san, but I doubt the NPA could suffer such a loss. I'm grieving as it is that I'm loosing you personally—despite some rather redundant theories you bring up in the briefing room—
"Theories you endorsed!" Matsuda blurted, knowing that some of the resentment wasn't completely misplaced.
"—The truth is you're still too good a detective for this organization to lose completely. I understand that you had a lot of pride invested in this confrontation Matsuda-san, but I know you too well, you don't want to lose this job. You're being transferred outside of the city to a barracks in Ibaraki. Now, the Vice Director arrived very early this morning, let's allow him to get some rest, shall we?" Aizawa shuffled a stack of papers stiffly into the 'In' tray on his desk, moved out and bowed to the Vice Director, who tipped his head lightly in reply. Matsuda rose, did the same, and allowed the Vice Director out before casting a single, weary glance at Aizawa.
"Don't forget to check your phone. There are a few things I thought I should tell you before you came in," Aizawa smiled conspiratorially before picking up the phone on his desk and telling the downstairs secretary that Matsuda's transfer orders were waiting to be picked up. Tota knew that smile, but for the life of him couldn't understand why he was getting it right after being transferred to the-station-in-the-middle-of-nowhere. Remembering to lower his curious eyebrow, Matsuda bowed appreciatively to his superior and long time friend before joining the curious throng outside of the office.
Ide, Mogi, and Yamato waited like a group of grade schoolers when one of their number had been called into the principle's office. No one said a word as Matsuda took two sideways steps towards the wall, leaned against it and sunk, exhausted, to the floor. He let out a a painfully long sigh, the energy he had so expected to carry him through continuing to seep out of him at an alarming rate. He felt dizzy. Trying to have something to excuse his quiet breakdown, he brought his phone out of his pocket and held it up to his ear.
"You have...two new messages...first message, 7:04 am June 11"
Aizawa's gruff voice filtered out of the phone, just low enough for only Matsuda to hear.
"Matsuda, you were right. There is a cult. L confirmed your suspicions almost as soon as I had Ide contact him. L is in Japan, with Mello. He says that for now he and Mello are working together and the he can be trusted. They're staying at a hotel in Harajuku with a witness, who is a former member of the cult. I want you to take a statement from this witness and have Ide send it to me. I'm not happy about keeping this from the Vice Director but we can't not investigate this. We owe The Chief that much. You have more time before your transfer than the Vice Director let on, use as much of it to help L as possible—beeeep
"Second message, 7:06 am June 11"
" Oh, and don't get Yamato involved. Say you're going to go drinking and talk about the Kira Case, that should get rid of him. Good luck, and thank you. Eriko would never forgive me if I got involved with Kira again."
Matsuda knew that normal people when they were proven right felt a distinct sense of exaltation and righteousness. He felt nothing. The truth was that he'd only just succeeded in telling himself he was overly paranoid and was going to be comfortable with that. Until he realized he couldn't be, and neither could Aizawa or Ide or any of the other NPA survivors. Ever since that evening at Yellow Box, shadows jumped to greet him on the drive home and there was always someone watching from the darkness and laughing whenever he wrote "accidental death" on a police report. Teru Mikami's wide, manic eyes haunted him, and so did the soft, often tearful eyes of Misa Amane. Tota looked up to see a strong arm reaching down for him, Ide's.
"I need a drink," Matsuda said, attempting to recover his former mood.
"He only did it because the Vice Director couldn't stand to have two living reminders of The Chief on the same team," Ide supplied, keeping a companionable hand on Matsuda's shoulder as they made their way back down the hallway. Matsuda remember the endless coffee runs during the beginning of the Kira case, and the way Souchirou would rub his temples just hard enough so his glasses wouldn't come loose. Despite the relative calm that was starting to settle over his nerves, Matsuda couldn't shake the feeling that he would never see Headquarters again. Or if he did it wouldn't be the same. The feeling stuck with him until they exited the sliding glass doors and greeted the city slightly more alive than it had been a little while before. A light, cool breeze buffeted his open jacket as he strode to the car, allowing Ide to take shot-gun while Moji made a polite excuse to Yamato that this was to be a private gathering only, and that if he needed anything to call the next morning. The young man stuttered out an understanding grunt, too lost in his own ruminations to give it much thought. It wouldn't be the first time he found himself excluded from the doings of the elder detectives.
A line of soft strobe from street lamps guided their way into Harajuku, which was intrinsically alive for the early hour. Music blasted from the open doors of gothic night clubs where girls in nothing but sheer lace camisoles clustered together and twittered to each other like birds. The smell of sweat and sugary perfume carried on the wind; followed the detectives like a dancing gypsy down the street. Now and again, Mogi would readjust his grip on a thick manilla folder he carried with him, as if the weight of it were too awkward for his massive hands. The only time anyone spoke was to give a direction or to pass the blocks in small talk, which only served to make Matsuda more tense—news that Mello would be with L didn't exactly bolster confidence, considering the last anyone actually saw of the blond maniac was before the epic demolition of a rundown hotel in west LA. Matsuda's memories of that night drifted back in echoes, too painful to be examined in close detail. It had taken everything he'd had after The Chief's death to stay on. It dawned on him some time ago that if it weren't for the death note, Mello and The Chief would have never crossed paths in the first place and if anyone was to blame, it was Kira. He'd done a good job in the last year or so in separating Kira and Light Yagami, even if he realized it was a pale rationalization of his own weakness.
"That's it," Ide pointed to the least likely place Matsuda could have ever imagined to meet L. A set of bright, gaudily lit steel rails led up a small flight of of steps to the door of a love hotel. Neon burned his eyes, humming from the bottom windows in every shade of pink and red he could name and from the inside, glossy pictures of rooms had been taped along with their price per hour. Ide led the way in, bearing through the curious look from the receptionist and asked to see the guests in the "Velvet Paradise" room. Trying not to pay attention to the sound of muffled sex assaulting them from every direction, the detectives made their way down a dark, hormone-drenched corridor to a door draped in deep purple velvet. Ide knocked. Matsuda could feel the figures within the room stir through the floor and a second later, the mechanical lock on the door went from red to green.
A young man with messy dark hair greeted them, concealing the gun in his hand just enough to not be seen by the security cameras lining the hallway. He beckoned them in with a nod, slipping aside to give Matsuda his first good look at the room. Deep velvet and velour slip-covers disguised every surface, draping from the floor and walls in dull, glittering pools. L, or rather, Near was perched on a stool, bright against the darkness while the young blond on the bed adjacent succeeded in being the only one who looked as if he belonged there. He was far less clean cut than Matsuda remembered, his hair long and frayed, obscuring a patch of brutally marred flesh over his eye. The skin looked half-melted, the scars whorling down his neck and bare arm. Next to him was a nervous looking Japanese girl who shook constantly and couldn't take her eyes off her shoes. Mello elbowed her.
"Hey, they're here," he said, his japanese as gruff as ever. The girl looked up and nodded. Flanking the bed were Near's only other companions, a tall blond woman and a broad shouldered flaxen haired man. The man kept his gun trained on Ide until Near waved, his hand trembling uncharacteristically. Though he barely moved, he sat loosely on the chair, not in his usual tight posture, and one hand compulsively twirled a lock of snowy hair.
"It is good to see you again, Detective Matsuda," Near said, "There is a lot we have to discuss."
"So, there really is a cult?" Matsuda said as Mogi placed the manilla folder on the bed next to Mello.
"Yes," Near replied, "you were right to contact me when you did. If you had continued to pursue your theory alone, you may have died."
Matsuda shook his head, "I wasn't alone, but...why only contact us now?"
"We have reason to believe someone at Whammy House is under the cult's direct control, and your experience with the first Kira case may be needed. We also have reason to believe the leader of the cult is in possession of a death note," Near stated bluntly. An uncomfortable pause settled over the room as the three detectives considered the implications Near was making, "The young woman with us is Ruki Kadoh. She was kidnapped and partially brainwashed by the cult. For her own safety and our own, I am here to request that the NPA take her into protective custody. I do not believe it was in the cult's plan for her to break from them so quickly, if at all."
Ruki jumped when her name was mentioned an again eyed Matsuda with a blank, nervous gaze. She looked stunned to find herself where she was.
"Go ahead, Miss Kadoh, tell these men what happened to you," Near's deadpan voice was the last thing Matsuda would call encouraging, but after a moment, the words spilled out of the girl's mouth almost too fast for him to follow. Thankfully, Ide set a tape recorder on the edge of the bed in time to catch the most important details.
"I...worked at a theme resturant in Akibara where a lot of the girls were fans of Misa-Misa. They talked about Kira a lot too. When Matt came around and told me he was investigating a cult, all of a sudden they started being really mean to me at work. I never said anything to them about what Matt was doing. He didn't tell me much either, really, justed talked about, him a lot." She motioned to Mello, "Every chance he got, he told me about how during Kira's reign he and Mello fought to take Kira down. About going to school together in England too. Anyway, eventually we learned that the cult used a drop off-pick up system to get the names and faces of criminals. They'd tape the pictures of criminals to the back of idol magazines and leave them all over as tributes to Misa-Misa, then somebody would pick them up and deliver them to Kira. We watched them for a while, but one night when we were getting ready to find out where they took the photos, a whole bunch of men and women in dark cloaks broke into Matt's apartment building and set it on fire...they captured us in the confusion and brought us to The Dolphin Hotel. They didn't want us to see where we were taken but we did." Ruki paused, took a trembling breath, looked desperately at the faces of the men around her and continued. "They...kept us in separate rooms, but I knew Matt was alive because Father Raku, he's the cult leader, talked about him. Father Raku showed me proof of Kira's good work in the world...they showed me pictures of all the people Kira had killed and how all he wanted to do was preserve justice. I...was so scared I just started nodding along with everything he said and for everything I said I agreed with he promised to release me. So...I kept going along with him. It was all I could do to stay alive. They starved me and didn't let me bathe, told me that only those loyal to Kira were allow to live in his world. What was I supposed to do? I told them I would be loyal and live in Kira's world. They let me eat and shower and the next thing I knew Father Raku was handing me a plane ticket to go to Europe. He told me to find Mello, but he called him a different name. He only had an old sketch of him printed out, but I knew him from how Matt described him. About forty of us went to Europe, and when we found Mello I...remembered myself, I guess when I saw him up close. I broke from the others after we were scattered at the airport and followed him on my own. It was luck that he didn't shoot me on sight but Hal stopped him, because she recognized me. I don't know anything about the death note because I never saw it, but...if it really exists and I could die any minute that's fine...I don't want to live after this..."
The only sound that followed was that of Ide clicking off the recorder. The three detectives eyed each other significantly before conferring amongst themselves in a language of indecipherable expressions. When some kind of mutual decision had been reached, Matsuda addressed Ruki comfortingly.
"If you're scared of the cult coming for you again, we'll do everything we can to protect you, but you'll need to answer a few more questions. It doesn't have to be now, this isn't official or anything but before we do anything to help your friend we need to know a little more about the cult."
Ruki nodded, looking relieved for the first time. Mello, in the interim had begun leafing through the thick manilla folder. A gloved hand paged through a volume of hasty printouts before settling on one. He walked it over to Near.
"His real name is Roger Sampson and he's no stranger to the British press. Taught for fifteen years at Chester Boarding School, graduate of Whammy's, never came close to reaching the successorship but came back after retiring from Chester as the proprietor under Quillish Whammy. Distinguished contributing editor of The Independent and The Guardian for the past twenty years, has had any number of articles published in psychology journals...completed his doctorates thesis on the applications of Skinnerian behaviorism to mentally disturbed children in 1983. No one else at the House has anything close to this kind of record. If anyone is feeding the cult info, it's Roger," Mello dropped the stapled report in Near's lap and retreated back to the bed, flopped down and pulled a chocolate bar from under the covers. The crinkle of foil punctuated the stillness of the room, followed by a loud, satisfied 'snap' as a large corner of the bar disappeared wholly down his throat.
"As of now, we must assume that there is a death note in Japan, and that Father Raku is using it to control possibly the entire cult, along with Roger." Near said simply.
"So, what can we do?" Matsuda asked, "other than keep the cult from getting to Ruki?"
"Eventually, a confrontation will be forced," Giovanni broke in, "we won't be able to take on the cult alone, our only hope is the cooperation of as much of the NPA as possible. Just like before..."
Matsuda was assailed with images of some cloaked figure writhing on the ground, bleeding to death the same way Light Yagami had. That chill, mad laugh still haunted him. The smell of blood was fresh in his nose at the memory, sending a resolute vein of cold down his spine. The weakness he remembered facing the first Kira was gone, and only grim duty remained.
"We're it as far as cooperation with the NPA, but we're in. What do you need us to do?" Matsuda asked.
"Mello and I must return to England. We dare not travel alone so Lester, Giovanni and Hal will be coming with us. Keep Ruki Kadoh safe at all costs, and if Kira kills her, contact us immediately. She will be our canary in the mine, so to speak. If Kira kills her, we must rethink out strategy. If not...learn as much about the cult as possible. You will be able to contact us as soon as we touch down in England," in an untold gesture, Near held out his hand to Matsuda, "good luck, detectives."