ヽ(￣ω￣(￣ω￣〃)ゝ

Ida stood reluctantly at the apartment's front door, C8 emblazoned in fading golden letters. "I have a bad feeling about this."

Enomoto groaned. "Come on, Ida. this is the last house. Everyone else has gone home. This is all we have to do here tonight— this is our only chance for a lead. None of Hayashi's family was home. This old lady is our only chance. Besides," he pushed past Ida and rang the doorbell, "she's an eighty-seven-year-old woman. What can she possibly do to you?"

Ida shivered. "My grandma's scary," he muttered defensively.

"Shut up," hissed Enomoto.

"Who is it?" shouted a fragile voice through the door. "My daughter is in the army, so don't try anything!"

"Amano-san? I am Officer Enomoto, and this is my partner, Officer Ida. We are of the Osakan police, and we're looking into your granddaughter, Hayashi Chika. May we ask you a few questions?"

"Police?" The door opened a crack, and a pair of thin glasses peered out. "What do you care about that useless excuse for a child?"

Regaining himself, Ida spoke up from the side. "It's not the kind of conversation to carry on like this. May we come in?"

"Show me your badges." They could hear the skepticism in her voice. With a quick glance at each other, Ida and Enomoto held up their badges to the centimeters-wide crack in the doorway. For five long seconds, the old woman said nothing.

Suddenly, she slammed the door shut. Ida jumped back, startled, and Enomoto shut his badge closed with a snap. On the other side of the door, they heard a click, a clack, and a long creeak, and the old woman, a hunched, wiry little thing in a wheelchair pulled the door open. "Come in, then. I'd say I don't have all day, but neither do you." She wheeled herself inside, leaving the policemen to follow.

As they walked down the hall, a picture caught Ida's eye. "Is this your family, Amano-san?"

She turned her head. "A family reunion, eighteen years ago. We went to America on a small budget."

Enomoto looked over Ida's shoulder. "Hayashi isn't in the picture," he commented. "She was… twenty-eight?"

"Chisai never showed up to family events once she married that worthless coward of a man. The only brave thing he ever did was divorce her. So no, Chisai wasn't at that reunion." Amano wheeled herself into the living room. Enomoto and Ida followed her and sat down on the couch.

"That was our last family reunion. We haven't had one since." Amano looked at a picture on the wall, a younger version of herself holding her daughter in her arms. "Now, what were your questions?" she asked without looking away from the wall.

"Has Hayashi tried to contact you recently?" Ida took out his notepad.

"Chisai hasn't spoken to me since she left Kishi's— my daughter's— house to live on her own. Chisai loved her parents, but she never liked me much."

"Has your daughter contacted you recently about leaving town? Has her husband mentioned anything?" Enomoto asked.

Amano shook her head. "I haven't heard a thing. I don't talk to my daughter about everything, so I don't know. Have you talked to Kentaro? Chisai's older brother?"

Enomoto and Ida exchanged another glance. "We tried, but no one was home," Ida told Amano.

"The same with your daughter and her husband," added Enomoto. "Hayashi's ex-husband and her daughter, too. You're the first out of Hayashi's family we've been able to reach."

Amano frowned, thought only for a moment. "Like I said before, once Chisai got married and moved out, I haven't talked to her at all. We never got along in her teen years, so I can't tell you much about her. When she was in high school, though, she had two friends. The three of them together were like triplets. If anyone knows about what Chisai is up to, Kajiwara Maho-chan and Hayashida Akira-kun are their names."

Ida copied down the names. "You wouldn't happen to know where we can find them?"

"Not quite, but I know who might. They all graduated from the same college and got very close to a certain professor. Professor Fujimora still works at that University. She may be able to help as well."

As Ida wrote down the information, Enomoto looked again at Amano. "For someone Hayashi never talked to, you seem to be awfully familiar with her."

"She never spoke to me because I kept an eye on her for years. She is chisai— small. I watched her as she grew up and she hated it. Now, I do believe you have overstayed your welcome, officers." She narrowed her eyes at them. "Do this old woman a favor and show yourselves out."

Ida and Enomoto bowed, one after the other. Ida lingered just a moment longer than his partner, gazing at the family portrait on the wall. "They're a beautiful family," he offered quietly.

A little huff. "I guess so. Leave, please." Though it was clear she wasn't asking.

"Thank you for your time." Without another word, he left her in an empty house with an empty heart, no one to assure her that her daughter was safe from the monster she'd raised.

ヽ(￣ω￣(￣ω￣〃)ゝ

"Professor Fujimora has been missing for three days," said the secretary curtly.

Enomoto smacked his forehead. "That's why I recognized the name."

"Enomoto, please," Ida scolded, elbowing him. He looked to the secretary. "Where was the professor last seen?"

"Her husband said she never came home after work three days ago. The security footage shows her talking to a custodian, but none of the custodians say they ever saw the Professor."

"Can we see this footage?"

The secretary looked at Enomoto. "I brought it to the station the day that I reported Professor Fujimora missing. It's not here anymore."

"Maybe you can help us with this, then." Enomoto snatched Ida's notebook from his pocket. Ignoring Ida's yelp of protest, he read off two names. "Kajiwara Maho and Hayashida Akira. They were two students here. Can you access their files?"

"It'll take me a while if they've graduated."

Enomoto snapped the notebook shut. "Well, they have."

The secretary began typing, barely sparing a glance for the officers. He clicked a few different tabs, looking through backlogs and very, very old data. "You don't know what year they graduated?"

Enomoto shook his head as Ida took back his notebook. "They both turn forty-two this year, though," said a disgruntled Ida.

The secretary nodded. "Believe it or not, that does help," he said with a little smirk. "This is going to take a while. If you have anyone else to interrogate, you should go do that. I'll call you once I get this information."

When Enomoto glanced around helplessly, the secretary sighed. "Those sticky notes in front of you. Write your number down there."

"What time does this office close?" Ida asked as Enomoto wrote down their phone number.

The fakest smile Ida had ever seen, far too bright and far too wide. "Ten minutes ago."

(つ･･)つ¤=[]::::::

Heiji walked into the library, his crutch echoing loudly through the empty building. The woman at the front desk looked up at him and frowned. "We close soon."

"No, ya don't. Ya close in an hour. Ya jus' don't want me walkin' 'round with my crutch bein' all loud an' annoyin'." The woman bristled, her lie exposed so quickly.

"In any case, you are not welcome here. Minors are not allowed in after eight," she sniped.

Heiji approached the desk. "Jus' cause my skin's dark doesn't mean I'm not smart. All you Americans think alike," he grumbled in English.

The woman set down the book in her hands. "How did you know?"

"You talk like you're from Tokyo, and we're in the middle of the Kansai region. You aren't too rich, but everything you're wearing is from America. You don't have the funds to import all this clothing, so you must've brought it over with you. While your Japanese is good, it's still awkward. You probably learned Japanese from a friend in America and moved here three, maybe four weeks ago. You look Japanese, though, so you can fool most people."

"Who the heck are you?" As she glared, he caught a glimpse of her necklace.

"You're Christian, too. What denomination? Don't answer that," he said before she could respond. "Do you know a Chika Hayashi? She worked here a little while ago." It was second nature to flip the first and last name around when he spoke English.

"Like you said, I've only been in Japan for a little while," she said quickly, nearly too fast for Heiji to understand. She was trying to confuse him, he could tell. "Answer my question," she demanded.

"Heiji Hattori, high school detective. Answer mine truthfully, please. One of my friends is in danger." He shifted on his aching leg and gave her a solid, I'm-not-taking-any-of-your-crap deadpan.

"How did you-?"

"When you lie, your blink twice quickly afterward. Now, tell me what you know about Hayashi-san." (Cue Heiji channeling his inner Hattori Heizo.)

The woman huffed. "Why do you care about her? She's a sweet lady and has nothing to do with whatever you're up to."

Heiji pulled out his phone and showed the woman a picture of Hayashi straight from the criminal file. "This is the woman we are talking about, correct?" The woman nodded silently, frowning in confusion. "She is wanted on eight accounts of murder. She was arrested and on her way to prison to wait for her trial when she escaped. She was last seen in this city, and she might have kidnapped a police officer I know."

The woman stared numbly at the picture. "Chi-chan wouldn't-"

"But Chika Hayashi did."

Four torturously long beats passed before the woman breathed again. While she still scowled at Heiji, she didn't resist any longer. "Yeah, Chi-chan worked here. She did for a few years. She trained me before quitting. She was the best with English, so we talked a lot." She watched Heiji carefully before continuing. He made no change in his expression, only nodding for her to continue. "Chi-chan loved her work here and knew many of the regulars personally. The delivery boy who brought the mail every other day was like a little brother. A little girl, maybe six, was all that Chi-chan talked about during breaks. She got along with the girl's parents, too. That's why it was so weird when she quit."

"How long ago did she quit?"

"A bit after my training was done. Three weeks ago last Thursday."

"Did she say anything odd or do anything out of the ordinary?"

"Not really. But she always read weird books. I thought it was normal for her though. Murder mysteries and gory stuff like that. She loved it, and since she was nice, I didn't question it."

Looking around the library, Heiji asked, "Does the library have any hidden places? A basement or a place like that?"

The woman shook her head. "We just have this one floor. You can look in the storage room, but there's nothing there but old books and a broken coffee maker in there."

"I want to look in there. Can you let me in?"

"It'll have to be after hours. You mind waiting?"

"No. I'll wait in the back near the staff room."

"Go to the far back, then take a right."

"Thank you for your help, oba-san," he said, the constant use of English beginning to give him a headache.

"I am happy you help," she responded. She blushed, putting a hand on her chin. "Um, I mean, I am happy to help."

(つ･･)つ¤=[]::::::

To Heiji's disappointment, there truly was nothing to find in the staff room. Hayashi had cleared out her desk neatly, leaving no trails behind. Before he left, he got the woman's name and phone number- Clara Gordon knew more about Hayashi than Heiji did, and he knew he'd want to call her later. He followed the leads about the mailboy and the little girl, but all he found was that the two had gone missing as well as the girl's parents.

Two days passed before Heiji got a hold of the officer's reports on the investigation into Hayashi's family. He printed out a copy of the report and took a cab to his favorite thinking place— a little hole in the wall called the Blue Parrot.

While the drive was a little long, it was worth it. The old man who ran the place was nice enough to let Heiji come in during the day, and he gave him a secluded booth in the back. From the booth, Heiji couldn't see the front or the bar itself, but he considered it a tender mercy— no one at the front could see him, either. It seemed Jii-san had special work to do and didn't want any onlookers. From what Heiji could tell, it was nothing illegal, so he didn't press for details.

The old man provided a safe haven that no one else could. Kudou and Heiji couldn't be together without a murder happening. His parents and Kazuha were still prickly around him about keeping Kudou's secret. He liked the little nee-chan, but her sense of humor was drier than a desert. Jii-san was a nice man. They worked separately and kept to themselves, but occasionally Heiji would wake up from a deep-in-deduction trance to find a glass of cola in front of him.

As he walked in that day, Jii-san shook his head. "Hattori-kun. What have you done to break your leg?"

For the first time, Heiji felt embarrassed about it. "I fell out of a tree an' right inta a flash flood," he said sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. "Doctors say I've still got 'bout a month b'fore I can get the cast off."

Jii-san laughed. "Knowing you, you'll force it off in a fortnight."

Heiji smiled guiltily. "I want it off now, but I know I don't wanna hafta get my leg broken again and reset."

"Well, I can't help you with that," Jii replied with another laugh, "but your booth is open as always. Feel free to stay as long as you like. I'm closed tonight to restock the liquor."

"Thank ya, Jii-san." Heiji readjusted the bag on his shoulder and went to the back of the bar. Propping up his crutch on the table, he slid into the seat of the furthest back booth, his back to the door. He pulled a stack of papers from his bag and laid them out across the table. Time to work.

He glanced at the list of family members that were in the area. All except the grandmother were reported missing, and below each of the missing family member's names was a list detailing each person who was last seen with them. As his eyes skimmed and scanned across the lists, a pattern began to form. An unidentified woman was the last person to be seen with each of them— either as a police officer, a delivery woman, or a custodian.

The custodian caught Heiji's eye— Otaki had been attacked by a custodian the night he was kidnapped. He flipped a page forward and found the photo gallery of this unidentified woman. She had caught his father's attention as well. Fourteen pictures in all depicted the same person in three different costumes. He didn't need to look at Hayashi's mug shot to know it was her.

"So she kidnapped her own family an' Otaki-han, too," murmured Heiji aloud. "What 'bout…" He pulled out the information he'd gathered from the library's leads. A delivery woman led Nonaka Emi, the little girl, to a mail truck according to an onlooker. When he asked the neighbors, they said that a policewoman told Nonaka Yuri and Jumpei to come with her because their daughter was missing. Based off the descriptions given, Heiji knew that Hayashi had taken this family, too.

Hayashi's delivery woman disguise had been seen again with the mailboy, Sakai Masao. She came into his workplace looking for him, and another employee on break saw her lead him to her truck.

Double counting, the list Heiji had made thus far 'only' included nine people. If he included this professor and Hayashi's high school friends, the grand total reached twelve. "But that doesn't match the…" From the bottom of the stack, he took out a map of Tokyo. In thick black marker, Hayashi had drawn a glyph made of circles and triangles. Amongst the lines lay an ancient language (Hebrew, if Heiji had to venture a guess), and distinctively demonic and Satanic symbols patterned themselves inside each of the triangles. On the next page, an officer had redrawn the glyph without the added 'decorations,' instead detailing each of the lines with scale measurements and locations of each of the found bodies.

The total number of people Hayashi had intended to murder and use as part of this twisted ritualistic serial killing was thirteen. "It's not enough," Heiji said aloud, "unless I include Otaki-han." The pit in his stomach only grew more.

On the back of the map, someone had been kind enough to include a translation of the Hebrew written on the glyph. 'The One that I have Loved, and the One that has Loved me so dearly, my beloved Lucifer, raise these souls to thee and Bless them with thy Love. As thou hast cleansed me with fire, if they be worthy of thy Love, so too cleanse them and Bless them with this Offering.'

Heiji swore under his breath. "Not only is she a madwoman, she's d*** religious, too." He frowned. "Wait, does worshippin' the devil count as bein' religious? No, don't answer that," he muttered to himself.

"Cleansed with fire, she says. Otaki-han pulled her from a fire, an' there was a cultist person there. Maybe…" Taking out his phone, he scrolled through his contact until he got to 'Gordon Clara.' Pressing call, he waited for her to pick up.

It only took her a few seconds to answer. "Moshi moshi?"

"Gordon-san? This is Hattori Heiji. We talked a few days ago about Hayashi."

"Yes, we did," she said, her tone guarded. "Do you need something else?"

"Did she ever mention stuff 'bout church with ya?"

"Church? I guess I brought it up once or twice. I mentioned the name of the Lord and she started freaking out, so I avoided the subject with her."

"What kind of freaking out?"

"I don't know- freaking out? She started shouting, calling me Lucifer over and over again. She said she was going to 'burn me in hellfire' once or twice. She quit the next day."

"Did she ever mention a guy named Otaki Goro-han?"

"Otaki Goro?" Gordon hummed in thought. "No, I don't recognize the name. Is he important?"

"No." The denial was ash in his mouth. "That's all. Thanks, Gordon-san."

Heiji looked again over the police reports. Victims burned at the stake, strange writing around their feet. The familiarity of it all itched at the back of his mind. At last, he opened the browser on his phone and typed 'witch trials medieval europe' into the search bar.

It proved fruitful. Suspected to be servants of the devil, countless people were accused of witchcraft and executed in the most inhumane of ways. "There's no way out," he quietly spat with disgust. "Ya survive, ya're a witch an' ya get killed. If ya don't, ya die. Who the h*** thought this was a good idea?"

Begrudgingly, Heiji removed his disgust from the equation. "Hayashi's modelin' her killin' after these witch trials, then. Thirteen's an unlucky number like with the twelve disciples an' Christ. If she's offerin' thirteen people, then maybe it's like…"

Three blocks, forty-two meters and twenty-eight centimeters from where Heiji sat, Cachaça sat shivering in a giggling fit. A waitress had passed his table a few moments earlier, casting a concerned glance his way, but he was otherwise left alone.

As he'd trailed the young Osakan detective, he'd managed to plant a bug on the boy's hat. While it was a risky move, it proved to be worth it. Hattori Heiji talked aloud as he thought. He actually thought aloud and it was absolutely hilarious. Oh, how lucky could a crow get. Everything the police had been striving to discover and all that he, Prata and Amburana had been struggling to even comprehend, this boy, not yet even in his twenties, had discovered within barely an hour.

While, yes, Cachaça could brag of an intelligence that put adults three times his age to shame, he was nothing compared to this boy. Intelligence was all Cachaça had going for him in the Organization aside from his mother's influence. Intelligence may very well be his middle name. The fact that this mere boy proved himself to be so much higher than him made Cachaça's blood boil. It made his vision turn red and his teeth grind and his fists clench. He wanted to scream in fury.

But, right now, he was a mild mannered, middle-aged man who went by the name of Yoshiwara. Yoshiwara never got mad. Yoshiwara only ever cried or laughed.

As Hattori Heiji laid out everything Cachaça could only hope to formulate on his own, a little man named Yoshiwara sat in a fierce giggling fit. In that moment, Cachaça wanted nothing more than to skin Hattori Heiji alive and study his brain to see just what made him tick. As Yoshiwara's giggles approached sobs, Cachaça's lust for blood only grew. He wanted, needed to feel someone's life drain out from beneath his fingers, blood trickling down their necks as he slit their throat, delightful screams coming from their mouths as they burned alive.

Thank the heavens that he would have his chance. He supposed he should thank Hattori Heiji, too. After all, the boy had led him straight to his target.

The woman who called herself a devil: Hayashi Chika.