Disclaimer: Characters from PoT were created by Konomi Takeshi. Gil Grissom belongs to CBS (or to whoever thought of CSI, for that matter).
First in a possible series of semi-independent stories involving the Seigaku regulars as night-shift crime scene investigators. No actual sleuthing in this episode, I'm afraid -- just introductions (to lay the groundwork for any future episodes that might come up). Reviews are appreciated.
A word of thanks to the first two reviewers. Your comments are quite encouraging.
Take note: no shounen-ai is intended or implied. Pairings are strictly professional, or (at the most) friendly. Fangirling in our family is the exclusive preserve of my sister.
For the benefit of readers, I've added a brief description of the crime lab's layout to this chapter. Scroll to the bottom of the page to read it.
Enjoy.
******************************************
Note to self: Never take directions from girls with red hair. Especially ones who blush while you're talking to them.
Walking at a slow but steady pace, Echizen Ryoma hauled his aching body over metre after metre of wet pavement, his legs threatening to give way at any moment. The young man had been rushing about the suburb of Seigaku for much of the late afternoon, in the middle of what may well have been the worst summer rainstorm on record. From the railway station to Murayama Park, where he spent the best part of an hour cutting a path through the thickest crowd he had seen in his life. From the park to the pedestrian ramp of Hamaguchi Bridge, which turned out to be closed for repair work. From the useless bridge back through the crowded park and into Seigaku Station. From the station to a tourist centre in the eastern district which gave him the information he needed. A passing delivery truck took him as close to his destination as it could, but from where he disembarked the weary youth still had nearly a mile to go.
If I ever see that sergeant again, I'd give her a tongue lashing she won't soon forget.
Not that he would. No, he didn't care enough about people to be angry with them for more than a day or so. Excepting his worthless father, of course.
Half-carrying, half-dragging his sodden backpack over the damp concrete, Ryoma negotiated a corner and saw what he was looking for. In the distance reared a massive structure of glass and steel, shining brightly with internal lighting through the pitch blackness of a stormy night. A nearby road sign identified the building beyond any shadow of a doubt.
Summoning every remaining ounce of his strength, Ryoma made for the building with a final burst of speed. But there wasn't much left in him at that point, and as he struggled onto the pavement that bordered the police station's grounds his knees finally buckled. Sprawled out on a dirty ribbon of concrete, abandoned and alone in the streets of an unfamiliar city, the young man could do nothing more but lift himself up onto his elbows and begin to crawl towards the building that hovered so tantalisingly close. Fifty feet. Forty feet. Thirty. Twenty. Just ten more . . . ten bloody feet and you're there.
Then, just before he arrived at the entrance, something in an empty waiting shed caught his eye. A vending machine. The sign in front of it was partially obscured by grime, but the single word printed there – of which just two letters were visible – drew him closer like a moth to the flame.
P-O- . . . No. It couldn't be.
He stood up on wobbly legs and edged closer, eyes wide open and brimming with weary tears. One waterlogged coat sleeve struck out and brushed away some of the detritus that covered the sign, revealing the last three letters.
It is.
Fishing a coin out of his pocket, Ryoma struggled to drop it through the narrow slot. He pushed a button and stepped back.
A few seconds slipped by. Nothing happened.
No. The young man approached the machine and beat on it furiously with his fists. No, don't do this to me! I need that drink!
Just then, the noises of metal objects clicking and clanking within the machine reached his ears. A familiar sound came to him – the sound of a heavy beverage tin falling into the open receptacle at the bottom. He reached in, grasped the cool aluminium cylinder with his shaking hand, then held it up to the light.
Peach Ponta.
The next few moments were among the most satisfying of his life.
Feeling utterly refreshed, with a quarter-litre of dangerously sweet liquid charging through his veins and giving him renewed vigour, Ryoma mounted the long flight of dark granite steps in front of the station building. He swept through the revolving glass door that led into the lobby, leaving trails of muddy water all over the pristine marble floor as he darted towards the front desk.
In response to his query, an extremely irritated receptionist jabbed her finger towards a lift marked "Underground Levels 1-5". Ryoma entered, punched the right button, and endured four seconds of mind-numbing music before emerging onto the floor where Seigaku CSI was located.
As he walked into the foyer, Ryoma ran into a small group of tired-looking people clad in black jackets. One of them whispered to the other, "You know, Shinji, if I ever see that bloody bike-thief again it'll be too soon. What does An-chan see in him, I wonder? I don't even know why they'd let a born criminal like that work in the police force."
"I don't know why I'm working here, either. Or at least I think I know, because my father's a government official and he wants me to enter public service. My mother always wanted me to pursue a degree in rhetoric instead – said it would help improve my public speaking skills. Though I can't see why my public speaking skills need improving, since I'm not a bad speaker. You don't think I'm a bad speaker, do you, Captain Kamio? Or if you do, you've never said anything about it. Maybe you did say something about it but I wasn't listening at the time so I didn't quite catch what you were trying to say. And . . ." He trailed off when he and his colleagues caught sight of the bedraggled Ryoma trying to sneak past them undetected.
A tall man with closely-cropped hair – presumably the leader of the group – looked at him with pity and asked, "Are you lost, young man? This area is off-limits to visitors. I'm afraid you'll have to go back up to the central lobby if you need to file a complaint or something."
"I'm not lost," Ryoma snapped, turning on him with barely concealed irritation. Seeing the small gilded crest of a police captain on the other person's collar, he bowed, reached into his pocket and drew out a dripping piece of paper. "My apologies, Captain. I meant no disrespect. But this might interest you."
The man gingerly took the wet document and read it with little enthusiasm. He looked up, a hint of surprise in his eyes, then re-read the paper from beginning to end.
"I see," the officer said, carefully folding the document before handing it back. He turned to his companions and announced, "Let me be the first to introduce you to our new colleague. This is Sergeant Echizen Ryoma, CSI Seigaku's newest field agent. He'll be working in the night shift." Turning back to Ryoma, the man extended his arm and said, "Captain Tachibana Kippei, supervisor of the day shift. My men and I are normally gone by six, but Superintendent Ryuzaki – you'll meet her later – kept us here for a briefing."
Ryoma shook his hand and said, "Sir, I really need to find Captain Tezuka of the night shift. I was supposed to report to him three hours ago. Could you direct me to his office?"
"I'll do better than that," Captain Tachibana said in a friendly voice. "I'll take you there myself. As for the rest of you, go on ahead to the lobby. We'll meet there in five minutes."
Heh, they seem like a fairly interesting bunch, Ryoma thought as the members of the day shift filed into the waiting lift car. And why does that long-haired fellow keep mumbling to himself? I'd better find out more about them once I settle in.
******************************************
A word on the "set": The Crime Laboratory is housed in a subterranean facility underneath the station building of Seigaku Police Headquarters. Two intersecting corridors – forming a cross with arms of equal length – divide the lab into four quadrants, in the following order (moving anti-clockwise from the upper-left corner): A, B, D, C. The main entrance (reached by stairs or by lift) leads into the corridor between A-section and B-section. Another entrance (stairs only) may be found at the other end of the facility, near sections C and D.
More information to come (on office locations, etc.) in future chapters. Now if I could only find the time to write them . . .