Rain of Terra
Ratatosk
3. Chapter 3
Rated: T - English - Crime/Mystery - Tomo T. - Reviews: 68 - Updated: 12-15-11 - Published: 08-23-09 - id:5325016
Tomo exited the patrol car and strutted like an overrated rock star toward the service entrance of the hotel, the early evening sun making the four-story granite building reflect like a polished marble floor in an upscale bank. The officer felt great relief at beating the rush hour traffic, because Tomo pushed every button, turned every dial, and searched every compartment and console in his patrol vehicle. If the trip had taken any longer, she would've been hitching a ride with tire tracks on her face.
Tomo made sure the pants she wore didn't have a malfunctioning zipper, and they fit nicely with the blue shirt tightly covering her lithe little body. Because the weather permitted it (and it smiled mercifully on Tomo this evening, much like a governor making a call to an execution chamber), she wore her green trench coat with its multitude of equipment to enforce justice, protect the innocent, and (because Tomo always permitted it) cause hilarity.
The Civic Type-R was parked on the curb, with a patrol car next to it, the lights flashing red and blue against the building's wall and dumpster. Next to the car was an ambulance, with the paramedics sitting up front relating some story that required expansive gestures from the driver, and head shaking from the passenger.
Leaning against the wall next to the service entrance and staring at the ground was Torako, wearing the same get up she had on earlier today, except for an old East German military jacket and… what was this now? Smoking a cigarette?
"Torako!" Tomo said. "Wow, there's something different about you today! Wait, don't tell me… you got a haircut!"
Torako, holding her cigarette, blew smoke before lifting her head and fixing Tomo with a slightly bored stare.
"Oh, I know," Tomo said, looking down at Torako's Doc Martens, the left boot horribly scuffed. "You got a pedicure!"
Torako waited a beat before speaking. "Third floor," she said. "Already took pictures of the crime scene. It's the one with the police tape and officer Masa guarding the door. You can't miss it." Torako looked toward the darkening sky, as if searching for something that wasn't there. She took another puff, exhaled smoke, and said, "I'll be up shortly."
"What's with the cigarette, huh? Thought you quit."
Torako, cigarette dangling in her mouth, stared at Tomo and didn't say a word.
"Well geez, have a bad attitude then," Tomo said. "See if I care!" Tomo snatched the cigarette out of Torako's mouth and stubbed it against the wall before flicking it into the patch of brown grass next to the dumpster. Flinging the glass door open, she stomped into the hotel. When Tomo reached the end of the hall where the elevators were located, she looked back and saw Torako light up another one.
Sheesh, what's her problem, Tomo thought. She exited onto the third floor and found the uniformed officer Masa standing in front of a room.
Tomo walked up and flashed her badge. "Detective Takino of the Intergalactic Patrol. The occupant of this room has space rabies, and I need to take him into quarantine. Order an evacuation of the city, it's going to be violent."
"Uh… that says Tokyo Po-"
"Yeah yeah yeah, I'm busy here," Tomo said, as she stepped over the police tape that only worked when people took 'Do Not Cross' as an order instead of a suggestion. She took inventory of the room, deciding it was nothing special; just a standard issue western style hotel room. In the closet next to the door was an overturned black cloth suitcase with its clothes strewn out like guts from an eviscerated warrior. Tomo put on her vinyl gloves and rifled through the clothes. She decided, after painstaking analysis that took about ten seconds, that there was only one change of clothes in the suitcase, and nothing more.
Tomo checked in the bathroom and saw a pearly white leather purse sitting on the counter with its contents poured into the sink. A glance at the sink was enough to tell her what was left: purple lipstick, a condom, a green packet of sour apple gum with three sticks, and a nondescript ball point pen. She went through the purse and found nothing. The trashcan was also empty.
She walked out of the bathroom. The TV was lying on the floor, with its screen caved in. The bedspread was pulled halfway off the bed, although the sheets underneath were as clean and tight as when the maid stretched them out that morning. The table in the corner had blood on the edge, and a puddle of blood stained the carpet underneath it, with an overturned chair lying next to it. Between the bed and the window, next to the bloodied bedspread, was a dead woman.
Tomo crouched over the dead victim. Rigor mortis hadn't arrived yet to kick out pallor mortis, which was strutting around on her pale skin, so the victim was probably killed less than three hours ago. The forensics lab would have to place the exact time of death.
The victim had light brown hair, obviously dyed, and from what Tomo could tell from the face, she was beautiful, although it was a banal, conventional beauty. The corpse was laying on her right side, facing the bed. The back of her head was encrusted with blood, and blood was on her fingers and palms. Tomo lifted the victim's hair and saw purple splotches on her neck. She rifled through the pockets of the victim's red dress and zip-up cotton jacket, but found nothing. There were balls of lint on the floor, so the murderer had already cleaned out the jacket pockets.
Tomo lifted up the corpse's hand… what's this? She took out her tweezers and pulled a clump of green thread stuck in the victim's cracked fingernail. She observed it closely… probably ripped from the murderer's clothes while fighting for her life. Tomo put it in an evidence bag and stuffed it in her pocket.
The green thread seemed a bit too thick to be from a normal jacket, so Tomo got on her hands and knees and prowled the floor for a lost coat button. She found the button under the bed, where it had rolled when the victim ripped it off the murderer's coat. She grabbed it and put it in an evidence bag too.
Torako walked into the room, sans cigarette. She sat on the dresser where the TV would have been, looked at the corpse, and faced Tomo.
"Front desk gets a phone call," Torako said. "We traced it to a payphone at Tokyo station, so we have no ID on the caller. The caller, a female according to the desk clerk, says to check on the person in this room. The clerk sends up her assistant, who finds this. He calls the paramedics, who come here and see that she's dead. They call the cops, and here I am. I call you, and there you are. So," she said, "what do you think happened?"
"Well, this is the way I see it," Tomo said, standing up to face her audience. She made a stance like a rock guitarist about the strike the opening power chord of a hit song. "She died of blunt force trauma. The guy grabbed her by the neck," – she pointed at the victim's neck – "choked her, and slammed her head against the table, which seems pretty awkward. She flailed a bit and knocked the chair down, but it didn't do much good. He thought she was dead and left the hotel. But she wasn't dead, because she crawled and tried to lift herself onto the bed, but instead only pulled the bedspread off and bloodied it. I'm betting the blood on her hands is hers, like she felt the back of her head or something."
Tomo pointed at the phone on the nightstand. "She was trying to pull herself up on the bed to reach the phone, but lost consciousness and died before that could happen."
"Why would she be killed?" Torako said. She had her chin propped in her hand. She was as still as a narcoleptic sloth.
"Eh? What got into you? Forgot how to be a detective?" Tomo put her hand on her chest and thrust out her chin. "Or maybe you've finally realized who the real brains of this operation is? Well, about time."
Tomo pointed at the corpse. "She's fully clothed, still wearing shoes, nothing wrinkled or put on wrong, and she's still wearing makeup. And except for the bedspread, the bed is made up. So, no sex took place here, but I didn't smell it anyway. However, my instincts are telling me she's a prostitute. She met a john here, and they got into an argument over money or some kinky sex position she didn't agree to, he lost his temper, and killed her."
"This isn't a love hotel." Torako said, spitting out the words as if they tasted of rotten fruit. Tomo arched an eyebrow, surprised at her partner's vehement tone. "Why would she bring a change of clothes?"
"Okay, that's a gap in my theory, but let me work this out. When the murderer thought she was dead, he stole anything that could identify her. Driver's license, bus pass, uh, cell phone, whatever she had on her."
Tomo walked over to the TV and studied it like Einstein working out the photoelectric effect, her closed hand propped under her chin. "The only thing I'm not getting is the TV. It's like he threw it down and started kicking the hell out of it. All of tonight's action took place right here," Tomo said, pointing at the area between the window and the bed, "so this doesn't make any sense. Maybe he-"
"I did that," Torako said.
"Eh wa?"
"I broke the TV," Torako said.
Tomo looked at Torako's scuffed shoe. "Is there something you're not telling me, pard? Who is this girl?"
"Asagi Ayase."
"And what's an Asagi Ayase?"
"She was my best friend," Torako said. She demonstrated Zeno's paradox by moving her gaze toward Asagi's body, but never reaching the goal. "We drifted apart. She started running with a bad crowd. Gangsters. Drug pushing, gambling, that sort of thing. We lost touch."
"Ah ha!" Tomo said. She affected the hammy voice of a movie trailer announcer and held up an imaginary microphone. "One friend becomes a cop, protector of truth and justice. The other becomes a gangster, distributer of vice and misery. Who will-" Tomo stopped, the hair on her neck standing at attention. Torako towered over her, her stare as cold and lifeless as permafrost on the Yukon.
"Um, Tora-"
Torako led with a brilliant uppercut, snapping her hand into a fist just before the point of impact. Her sharp and pointed knuckles smashed into Tomo's jaw, jerking her head sideways, and twisting her body like a patisserie working dough into a pretzel. Tomo thudded against the floor. Officer Masa, standing in front of the doorway, stuck his head into the room and decided he saw nothing.
Calmly and rationally, Torako stepped toward Tomo's twitching body as if she had all eternity to express her rage. She grabbed Tomo by the collar and lifted her ear to her mouth.
"You have no shame," Torako said, slowly and quietly, like a Talmudic scholar reading in an undertone. "You have no empathy. Everything is a game to you, so you can put on the Tomo show and be the center of attention. Not here. Not now. Not with me."
Torako dropped Tomo and stepped away. Tomo sprung upward, working her jaw like a cow chewing cud. She rubbed a bruise seeping across her skin, her expression hard. Torako rubbed her knuckles, blue and blotchy, and warily eyed Tomo.
"Is that all you've got to say to me?" Tomo said.
"Yeah," Torako said.
"Good," Tomo said, and she slapped her, savage and harsh. It was delivered with such force and verve that Joan Crawford's ghost entered the room and applauded.
"Don't you even start!" Tomo yelled. "If you can't take a joke, then… well… you suck!"
Torako moved her head back slowly, raising her eyes to meet Tomo's. Torako didn't touch the red welt on her face, didn't produce a glint of tears or a quiver of her lip. Quietly, she said, "Tomo. Can't you show any kind of compassion?"
No one spoke. Foreseeing the actual, final ruin of their partnership, perhaps even their friendship, Tomo took a giant leap across the chasm of her self-centered worldview to patch this up. She put her hand on Torako's shoulder. "Torako, I'm sorry. I shouldn't joke about this, I know. You lost a friend and I'm being an ass about it. Bad form."
Torako didn't move. Tomo wasn't sure what else to say. She scratched the back of her head, moved away from Torako, and faced the curtains closed over the window. She grabbed the curtains and pulled them away from each other, exposing the view of sky and buildings outside. The final haze of the setting sun burned below the newly twinkling stars. She imagined she could see Ueno Park in the distance.
"I'm sorry I hit you," Torako said.
"Thanks. Don't worry about it, I guess I deserved it."
"I've hit people with less force than I hit you, and they got knocked out," Torako said. "I'm surprised you were able to take it."
"Eh, I got experience in dealing with uppercuts," Tomo said, still looking out the window.
"Seriously? How many times have you been hit?"
Tomo shrugged her shoulders. "Just stuff in the past, don't feel like talking about it. Listen, we've already contaminated the murder scene, so we got stuff to explain to the chief. But I'm promising you; we'll find who killed Agasi-"
"Asagi"
"-Asagi, and bring him to justice." Tomo turned around and gave Torako the thumbs-up sign. "So, let's get started and crack this case wide open!"
Torako's face slowly lost its Moai-like sternness. "Yeah, let's get started."
Outside the room, officer Masa wondered what sort of crazy people could act this way while a dead body lay on the floor, and decided to put in a request to be assigned another district as soon as possible.
...
The coroner ruled Asagi dead, so the waiting paramedics collected Asagi's corpse, placing it in a body bag while Torako watched Asagi's face, eyes closed, for the last time as the paramedics zipped up the bag. They placed her on a stretcher and carried her out of the room.
Forensics swabbed blood samples from the floor, furniture, and bedspread, and collected the remaining items. Tomo criticized the surly forensics officers while Torako, hands in the pockets of her military jacket, stood at the window. She watched the ambulance pull out of the parking lot and onto the street, driving away from the hotel, taking Asagi with it. Torako bowed her head, shut the curtains, and turned toward the forensics squad as they argued with an increasingly vociferous Tomo.
"Let's get out," Torako said. Tomo harrumphed, but followed her out of the room.
Torako ordered two police officers to guard the entrances to the hotel, prohibiting anyone from leaving or entering if they didn't have a badge. The rest at her disposal were to go door-to-door to explain the situation and question the guests.
The registry showed the room checked in Asagi's name, and that she had reserved it yesterday. She paid the deposit in cash, so there was no check to trace back to a bank, or credit card to follow to a home address. Tomo and Torako personally interviewed the few people staying on the third floor, but no one saw Asagi or anyone else enter the room, or head any suspicious sounds. Except for the desk clerk currently on duty, the rest of the staff didn't remember seeing Asagi, or anyone else asking for that room.
Tomo and Torako decided to review the security tapes right after Asagi checked in.
The clerk went to collect the recording while Tomo stood around behind the front desk, watching the snowy static on the monitor connected to the VHS. Tomo furrowed her brow. "You know, there's something I'm forgetting here."
Torako was standing in the doorway to the front desk. She was leaning on her hand propped up high on the jamb. The other hand was on her waist, in perfect imitation of Steve McQueen on the Bullitt poster. "What's that? About the murder scene?"
"I think so," Tomo said, "I did something… forgot to do something…"
Torako watched Tomo's mental battle with herself with calm amusement, like a satiated cat watching a fight between two mice. Tomo suddenly pounded her fist in her palm.
"That's it!" Tomo said. "It's that kidnapping case we solved! I forgot to rub it in Kazumi's face today. Remind me to do that tomorrow, okay Torako?"
"Sure," Torako said, entering the front desk area. She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. They waited for the clerk to bring back the footage.
...
They were at the front desk, watching monitor play footage from the past two hours, showing Asagi first checking in. The monitor showed the still living Asagi, smiling and joking with the clerk before taking the elevator to her impending death. Asagi's smile and shining eyes contained no hint or omen of what awaited her in that room. Tomo looked behind her at Torako, who was now maintaining her standard issue cool.
"I'm alright," Torako said. Tomo wasn't sure, but she didn't argue the point.
"She doesn't look like she was afraid," Tomo said. "So I don't think she was hiding out."
"Yeah, I think she knew the guy coming in," Torako said. "She wouldn't have let anyone in she didn't know."
The rest of the tape showed only three other guests checking in, all accounted for in their rooms. There were no mysterious visitors. The footage of the service entrance only showed the hotel staff members, all of whom were accounted for.
Torako rolled back the footage to when Asagi first checked in. She grabbed the highest-ranking officer and told him to lead a search of the entire hotel, go room to room, and look for any items that could identify Asagi Ayase. All of the guests complied with the officers asking to search their rooms, while the staff let the officers into the unoccupied rooms. Nothing was found.
"How do you leave a hotel but not show up on the security cameras?" Torako said.
"Maybe he hasn't left yet," Tomo said, but both doubted this. They had thoroughly searched the hotel, including the roof, boiler room, and elevator shafts. Tomo and Torako began the boring process of interviewing the staff on duty.
...
The time rolled around to 21:15 when the desk clerk brought them tea. It had a pungent and forceful taste that made one think it was brewed from Satan's anus. Torako took a sip, held it in her mouth without comment or reaction, and then spit it back into the cup. She put the cup on the counter.
"Damn fine tea!" Tomo said, after draining her plastic cup, pale yellow form years of machine washing. She slammed it down on the counter, eyed Torako's (mostly) untouched cup, and asked if she could have it.
"I spit in it," Torako said.
"That's not what I asked," Tomo said. "Can I have it?"
"Hell no," Torako said. "I'm not going to watch you drink my spit."
Tomo leaned her chair over to make a grab for it. Torako kicked the leg out from under the chair, catapulting Tomo from her seat and sprawling her across the floor. Torako grabbed her tea, sprinted to the employee rec room, and poured it down the sink.
"Hey, no fair!" Tomo said when she entered. "You weren't gonna to drink it!"
"Tomo, there's a whole pot of that stuff if you want it."
"But I wanted yours," Tomo whined, following Torako back to the front desk. The desk clerk was already formulating a complaint against their unprofessional behavior when Torako approached her.
"Any incoming or outgoing calls while she was in the room?" Torako asked the clerk. She figured this unlikely, since everyone has a cell phone.
The hotel desk clerk checked the phone logs. "One incoming call, but nothing else," she said. She gave the detectives the number that had called the room. It had happened two minutes before the anonymous call from Tokyo Station.
"Assuming that Asagi had a cell phone, why would anyone call the room?" Torako said aloud, to facilitate her own thinking.
Tomo decided to take the question as directed at her. "Real simple, Watson. They called her cell phone, and when she didn't answer, they called her hotel room. Her escort service knew what room she p-"
Torako palmed her forehead. "Are you still going with this prostitute angle?"
"Watch." Tomo flipped out her pink cell phone, dotted with daises. She put it on speaker and dialed the number the clerk took from the phone logs. While the phone was ringing, Tomo shot a smug, self-satisfied look at Torako. It was the physical manifestation of what a dictator of an island nation would feel on the inside.
The phone picked up. "Hello, this is Broodwich Bakery. May we take your order?"
Tomo gave a shocked, surprised look that same dictator would have, but only after being disposed by his peasants and forced to work in the salt mines. Torako smirked and looked at the ceiling.
"Uh, yeah," Tomo said. "We want… bread?"
"Excellent, we are glad you chose Broodwich Bakery. We cook a wide variety of artesian styles breads, from many different grains."
"Don't need the sales pitch," Tomo said. "I just want to know where your store is located. And, uh… what time do you close?"
Tomo wrote down the address on hotel stationary. She muttered thanks and hung up.
"Okay," Tomo said. "I know this looks bad, but it's obviously a front. They call it a bakery, but it's all coded language. Ordering bread? More like ordering prostitutes. Let's see…" Tomo paced around the front desk. "I guess rye would mean Jewish prostitutes…"
Tomo turned to look at Torako, arms crossed, and leaning against the desk. She had a disapproving stare, like a dean at a prestigious university watching a duck take the entrance exam.
"Okay, I admit it, maybe my theory was a little off," Tomo said, throwing her hands in the air. "But look at this!" She thrust the notes in front of Torako's face and jabbed at the dyslexic scribbles like a child poking his finger in cookie batter. "What bakery stays open until 10:30? That's way too late. Let's ride over there and check it out."
...
After thanking the guests and hotel staff for their cooperation, Torako assigned police officers to guard the entrances and the murder scene. She tasked other officers to check and record the ID of everyone that entered and left the hotel. She told officer Masa to contact the next of kin, a job Torako simply didn't feel up to.
They both got in the Civic, Tomo jumping in and thudding against the seat like a cannonball, Torako gliding smooth like a gymnast sliding across the mat. Tomo waited for the inquisitive growl of the igniting engine, but it wasn't coming.
Torako had both hands on the wheel. The key was in the ignition. She wasn't moving.
"Torako? You okay?"
"I don't know," Torako said. "I don't know what to feel. About Asagi's murder. I mean, it goes back and forth. Sometimes, I get so angry I can't control myself-"
Tomo kept her comment to herself.
"-and then it all disappears and I just feel… contempt, maybe? I wish I had patched things up with her, but I know we drifted too far apart for that to happen. You and me… well, I act like I'm bored of the whole thing, you screw around and make jokes. We're treating this like every other crime scene we've been at, offending people watching us, making them think we're heartless, but hey… I never cared before. We never cared. It was our method. But this time, it just feels wrong. It's like a betrayal." Torako put her hands in her lap. "Deep down, she's still my friend, no matter what."
Tomo struggled with what to say. She wants me to show compassion, Tomo thought, but how? What do I say? How do I do that? Geez Torako, why are you making this so difficult? Hmm… maybe I should offer to help.
"Hey, you want me to drive?"
Torako twisted the key, starting the engine. She tapped the gear shifter into reverse and slammed the gas, flinging the Civic out into the street. She jerked the wheel, slinging the car's front around, tires screeching, shifted into drive, and blasted away from the hotel like it was a first stage rocket booster falling back to Earth.
"Thanks, Tomo. I needed that."
"Oh shut up," Tomo said.
They sped toward the bakery.