17
There were three victims.
Akane Takahashi, female, aged thirty-one.
Eiichi Takahashi, male, aged thirty-three.
And Maiko Takahashi, female, aged just seven years old.
That was the youngest dead body I'd ever seen. I should've been disgusted, but I was fascinated.
I wanted to know how different her organs would be. How her skin and teeth would differ. How developed her systems were, the size of her reproductive system—I wanted to know everything.
She was the last victim I saw.
Mr Eiichi Takahashi was the first. He was in the kitchen. He'd been stabbed multiple times, well, I say stabbed—more like butchered.
The knife patterns looked more like that of a meat cleaver. His chest was a maze of deep cuts, crossing over and over each other. His neck had almost been severed by the wounds, they were that deep.
It was a sight for sure, blood everywhere, cuts everywhere...Most people had to step outside.
I didn't, neither did Lieutenant Morimine or Sergeant Yamamoto, who was also there.
"This looks personal," Yamamoto said. "Are we sure it's the same—"
"It's the same sticker," Morimine snapped. "Fisher, why are you just standing there doing nothing?"
"Oh! Sorry...Uh. I was just looking at the blood patterns, sir,"
"Is that your job?"
"Well, I know a bit about blood patterns—I took a course when I was seventeen—"
"Can you tell me anything?"
"Well...It was done from above, see? But this neck wound was done first, whilst he was standing. That's how there's blood on the counter. Looking at that neck wound, I'd say the weapon got stuck. I mean, look at those wounds, it was obviously a cleaver of sorts—"
"You're not telling me anything new,"
"Basically, the killer went for his neck, finished the job on the floor,"
"Thanks for nothing—"
"Sir? We didn't know some of that—" Yamamoto started.
"Fisher, make yourself useful, go and look around. And stop gawking, you're not a goldfish,"
I walked off, collecting samples and looking for signs of forced entry. Someone must've covered Mr Takahashi because everyone who'd left started coming back in.
By then, I was on the second victim—Mrs Akane Takahashi.
Mrs Takahashi was in the living room, she too had been butchered.
Her thighs had been slashed open, similar to how I'd slashed my own just days before. Only the cuts were too deep to even be called cuts. Again, they were so deep, her legs had almost been completely removed.
Blood everywhere.
As mentioned earlier, bleeding out of the femoral artery happens very quickly, very high pressure, very dangerous.
Not fun. Really not fun.
There was wine all over the place too, and glass.
Must've been a shock.
It was then that I moved to the small bedroom at the back. It was there I found Maiko Takahashi.
The cause of death for Maiko Takahashi was obvious.
I'd never seen a neck so cleanly snapped. I'll spare any further details.
Her death wasn't the most disturbing thing though. I will say.
It was how it was done.
Someone had been hiding in her wardrobe. Someone had been hiding under the bed.
That poor child would've been terrified. The murders were committed at night. She must've been terrified of whatever was under the bed.
It made me shudder. Something about her being in the room with the killer—scared in bed—it made me shudder.
I searched her room for more evidence. Sergeant Yamamoto came in and pieced it together himself.
"That's horrible," He breathed.
I nodded. "Found a sticker straight away," I showed him the bag.
"Did you see Akane Takahashi?"
"Yes,"
"They must've known the killer. I refuse to believe this wasn't personal,"
I nodded. "You don't just do...that to people you've never met, right?"
"Some people would," I said. "Anyone can be capable of anything,"
"Could you do this? To strangers?"
I paused. I thought about that night in August 2005; I was fourteen. "As I said, anyone can be capable of anything. You just have to push them hard enough,"
"And who pushed the killer?"
I shrugged. "I'm not working this case. I'm just a part-timer. I'm not a real police officer. Just ignore me,"
He paused. "Did Maiko have a laptop?"
"She was seven,"
"And?"
"She had a VTech,"
"Oh. Not useful then,"
"Did the others?"
"Yes,"
"Hm. There were not any laptops or phones at the previous scene..." I trailed off.
"I'm convinced this was a copycat,"
"I have not seen hardly any media on the case. There is not even anything on Shuu Tsukiyama," I was stuttering, staring at what I'd found.
"Speaking of, Morimine wants you to check the cameras again. God knows why, I don't think Katherine Raabe or Shuu Tsukiyama are easily missed and they don't live here," He paused. "Are you okay?"
"Come and look,"
"What?"
I'd found a few white animal hairs on the floor.
Cat hair.
"I think it's cat fur, sir," I said.
"How do you know?"
"It's animal fur at least..."
He hesitated. "Bag it. If it's the same cat, (which I doubt), it'll come up. Don't worry about it,"
But I did worry about it.
It consumed me.
The rest of the day, all I thought about was the hair.
I could barely focus on the security camera footage. Pasha had to help.
"You OK?"
"No...I—" I paused, then stopped completely, turning my attention away.
"Oh! Look, here," He paused the video feed.
It was the last camera we checked, the outside one. At daybreak, for about two minutes, a small figure could be seen clambering over the fence and slipping into Maiko Takahashi's room.
The figure was small, wearing all black. It's also noted that they removed their shoes before stepping inside. The shoes, by the look, were running shoes.
We couldn't define gender and captured no look of the face. The figure kept their head down constantly, a hood hiding their face.
We skipped ahead through the night, but the figure never emerged. They never returned to collect their shoes or anything.
Pasha and I both looked at each other, puzzled. The killer must've been wearing clothes under their black ones, but why didn't they take their shoes?
What's more, we didn't find any running shoes at the scene, so where had they gone?
We went through the footage more, until an hour prior to us watching it. No one with us had got them, only Lieutenant Kristofdottir came out to check and ordered an officer around.
So, we went back, we checked for the someone who could be the killer exiting, then watched anyone that even walked past those shoes.
We handled the shoes first. As it turned out, they disappeared just before we got there, after a young woman in a wheelchair passed by.
She was skinny, dark-haired, that was it. The only other notable feature was her wheelchair. We didn't even know if she was Japanese or not.
When moving on to the killer exiting, it seemed easy, as very few people were leaving throughout the night. Only it wasn't so simple.
As literally no one left in our time frame. No one remotely suspicious, that is.
The killer must've left out the back entrance, where there weren't any security cameras.
"What a waste of time," Pasha said.
"We saw the killer entering, their shoes being taken, that's something, right?" I said.
He shrugged, before sighing and leaving with the camera footage.
I wondered to myself why the killer had done electrical work at the Nakamura Scene, but not this one.
They must've injured themselves, getting blood in one. But why change/clean all of them in that room? It doesn't make any sense.
I thought, before being interrupted by an officer who started ordering me to take care of our final tasks on site.
When I finished, I went on Instagram to tell Shuu Tsukiyama. He'd just posted a picture of a party he was at, (as it was now evening). He was with some uber-famous people, the most notable being Genesis Slawter.
Genesis Slawter was one of Japan's most notorious popstars. She used a mix of classical music with pop.
She was also beautiful, and controversial. Very controversial. She was also extremely, overbearingly, anno
I liked her.
Her parties were famous in Tokyo, at least among the elite. They were 'innovative' and 'fresh', according to Shuu Tsukiyama, who seemed to be at every one of her parties. He wrote a blogpost after every single one.
They looked wild. They looked like parties billionaires would have.
Rich people have insane parties, but more about that later.
The image grasped my attention because it had a location. He was in Fuji, not Tokyo.
I messaged him whilst I waited for my bus to Shinjuku: Hi. There's been another murder. I should not really be telling you, but I thought you would want to know.
He replied immediately with: Who? Do I know them?
I don't know. It was in Kita. Takahashi—common name, right? There was a seven-year-old girl.
Never heard of them. Anything?
Not really. You don't know anyone in a wheelchair, do you?
Yes, why?
A possible suspect.
In Kita? I can't think...Although.
There was a pause as he typed.
It's probably nothing, but I understand one of my professors—Katherine Raabe—was a suspect for a while?
Yes.
Well, I don't know if it's worth anything, but I know she's friends with a paralysed young woman. I think maybe another professor's daughter.
Who's daughter?
I think he's a law professor. Swedish, I think.
Oliver Gunnarson?
That's it! His daughter, I think.
It was probably irrelevant, but it was an odd coincidence, so worth looking into. I knew Pasha and the others were aware of Oliver Gunnarson and Katherine Raabe, so I didn't doubt they'd pick it up.
I tried to think of a possible tale I could spin for them to get someone to look into it. All of them seemed to get me into trouble.
I thanked Tsukiyama anyway, who told me he'd be back in Tokyo in just a few hours. He had a business conference or something.
I was also working late that night. I'd made an arrangement with a few bars and met clients there. It was there that I met a woman who I've only come to pity.
I saw her dancing alone first. She had bright red hair in plaits, it was blue at the ends. Her face wasn't anything special, she wasn't fat nor thin, but curvaceous. Honestly, what brought my attention to her was her massive breasts.
They were huge. The biggest I'd ever seen.
I watched her dance for a long time, entranced, until I went out to give a guy a handjob. When I returned, she was drinking at the bar. She didn't notice me staring at her for a bit, until she found out what my job was and approached me.
"Hi," She said, smiling.
I blushed. "Uh, hi,"
"Nice tats," She nodded to a tattoo of a thumb-sized frog with a daisy umbrella above my breasts. "What's your name?"
"Amber,"
"Amber. Hm. Is that your real name?"
"If you want," I paused. "Did you want something?"
She smiled thinly. "My girlfriend just broke up with me,"
I nodded. "Right. Sorry, and now you are...looking for some fun?"
"Exactly. Do you do women?"
"Absolutely,"
"How much per hour?"
"Hm. Hour?" I might've upped my price a bit, mainly because we had to do it in her car. She also tipped me quite a bit.
Being honest, I would've shagged her for free...those tits were the best. She was amazing.
It didn't feel like work, it felt like fun.
I hoped she had fun, but then why else would she have tipped me?
It was just nice, and yes—this woman is important and not just another client.
After I finished with her, I cleaned myself up and went to meet one of my regulars.
I was escorting him somewhere that night—a business conference—I think he was an accountant, he was boring and he had a lot of money, so I assumed so.
I gave him a blowjob before we went, he said it'd help him with his 'mindset' or
something like that.
He was very boring.
What wasn't boring was who else I saw at this business conference.
You've probably already guessed, but guess who else was at that business conference?