You know, dealing with cops is always a pain in the ass. Yes, I say this as an ex-cop myself. I was aware even then of how much we sucked.

But dealing with the police in New York is almost on a whole different level than dealing with them in Japan. Sure, they were dicks, too, but it's almost like the NYPD wants the crime to go unsolved if it means a couple of foreign federal agents get the credit.

I go to the nearby precinct to get Thomas Borden's address, and the guy at the counter makes it twelve times more difficult than it actually needs to be.

He finally gives in and just gives me the damn thing, but he looks like he's sawing his own leg off the whole time. I'd do it for him in a heartbeat if he wants to be that way.

After dealing with that, I find myself walking through a nearby residential district. I've had to stop a few people to ask for directions. I look like a tourist and they weren't the most helpful bunch in the world, but I'm almost where I need to be.

I walk up to the entrance of the apartment, look for the name "Borden", and hit the buzzer. Then I wait.

And I wait.

Stiiiiil waiting.

I check my watch before rolling my eyes. Alright, time to use the tried and tested method. Start button mashing.

I run my fingers along all of the buttons a couple of times before finally someone decides to open up. Not wanting to waste this opportunity, I quickly slide inside.

The apartment is pretty shit, which tracks for someone working at a donut shop. His is room 303, so I make my way up to the third floor.

I don't expect anyone to be there, but I knock on his door just in case… and it just opens. I blink in surprise before making a quick sweep of the hallway.

After I'm sure no one sees me, I quietly step inside and survey the inside of Thomas Borden's apartment.

It's a goddamn mess.

Dishes everywhere, clothes lying all over the play, random boxes of Chinese takeout littering the counter and tables. The wallpaper is peeling off. There are stains of a variety that I do not care to know. I cover my nose when it's assaulted by some form of unidentified stench. Does this guy never clean? Christ.

"Misber Borbden?" I call out, still plugging my nose. "Ah'm here to askth you some quebstions!"

I move in, but look down when I hear the crinkling of paper. I see a few envelopes on the floor. Reaching down and picking one up, , I can read that one of them is an eviction notice.

This guy was getting evicted when he got fired. Well, it's another point in favor of him being Geurtz's killer, but it's still pretty flimsy. I tuck it in my coat pocket and move on.

There might be something else in the apartment. I step in further, keeping my nose covered.

After a quick glance over the living room, I can tell I'm not going to find anything in the living room, unless he decided to keep any incriminating evidence in the boxes of takeout.

Probably not.

Hopefully not.

I've cleared the dining room table and kitchen counter without having discovered a goddamn thing. Goddamnit, I think, picking up one of the mugs on the counter and throwing it on the ground. It splashes against my shoes and soaks through.

And now I have wet socks because of an unknown liquid. Super.

"Oh, come on…" I mutter, stepping out of the small puddle. I think it might be milk. I hope it's milk.

The only room left is the bedroom, because if the rest of the place is any indication, I'm not touching the bathroom. Who knows what horrors lurk there?

I crack open the door and, to my everlasting surprise, it's almost spotless.

The bed is neatly made, the desk across from it is clean of clutter barring a single opened laptop, and there aren't any clothes lying around.

Hell, I'd argue it's cleaner than my room.

I lean back out the door and look at the pig sty that's the living room and kitchen before turning back to the bedroom. I shake my head and run a hand through my hair.

The layout of the room is pretty simple. There's a bed in the middle with a desk across from it with the aforementioned laptop, and a bookshelf on the left side of the bed. The desk has a few drawers on it.

I make my way around the bed and take a look at the bookshelf. There's a lot of H. P. Lovecraft here, along with a buncha stuff about myths of various kinds. Egyptian, Norse, even the ancient Japanese myths that I was taught about as a kid.

I wonder if he's got anything about Izanagi in there?

I grab one of the books about Greek mythology and start flipping through it. Nothing of particular note here. I never found mythology particularly interesting, so it all kind of goes over my head. I return the book and glance towards the laptop.

A heavy sigh escapes my lips. I'm not good with technology. Never have been. And I've been locked up for ten years, so my understanding of it would be about a decade obsolete anyway. Still, if anything has something I'm looking for, it'll be that.

I step up to the desk and hit the power button. When nothing happens, I press it again. What the hell?

Son of a bitch, is the battery dead?

"Stupid fucking computers," I grumble as I start looking around for something to charge it with. "Good for nothing…"

I see that it's plugged into the wall, so I follow the cord and find it fallen behind the desk. After some finagling, I get the cord out and plugged into the laptop.

This time it turns on with nary a complaint. As it does its computer thing, I start looking through drawers.

The first one doesn't get me much, just pencils and other junk, but the second is a veritable treasure trove.

A journal. An honest to God, handwritten journal. I didn't know they even made those anymore.

The first page I open up to, a random one is filled with… well, calling it complete and utter nonsense might be a little generous. It's scribbles upon scribbles.

From what I can make out on my own, this Borden guy was a little more fucked up than Mrs. Geurtz had initially thought. "Alone." "Dark". "Watching." "Hurting." "Killing."

Okay, so maybe there's more credence to Borden being our killer. I snap the book close and look at the laptop. It's turned on and shows a screen. I press the spacebar and it opens up to the home screen.

No password? Even I know that's a little stupid.

I'm greeted with a note.

My eyebrows shoot up and I lean in for a closer look.

Whoever finds this note, I want it to be clear that it wasn't me.

I don't know what I did. I don't know what I'm going to do.

But I have to know.

I don't have a job anymore. I don't have anything left.

It's the train. The train knows. The train can help.

Midnight.

Well, that's certainly a… stream of consciousness. Train? Midnight? What does that have to do with anything?

I take another look at the book and grimace. Man, I just can't catch a break. Can't these criminals be a little easier to find and take down?

My phone rings in my pocket. There's only one person I know that would call me.

I bring it up to my ear. "Adachi."

"Adachi-san? It's Yu. Where are you now?"

As if my day wasn't bad enough, I have to hear from him again.

I groan and toss the book on the bed.

"Following up a lead. I think I know who could be the guy, but I don't-"

"You've got a lead?" He sounded incredulous and taken completely by surprise.

I grit my teeth. Was he fucking deaf?

"Yes," I hiss out. "I'm at some guy's place, name's Thomas Borden. It's a dump in about the middle of the city. Why?"

Narukami clicks his tongue. "Because I got a lead, too. And it isn't Thomas Borden."

My frown hardens. Another lead? That would mean…

"So we have another suspect?" I ask, picking the book back up and putting it into my jacket. "Who?"

"Benjamin Poindexter," Narukami says. "He was an associate of Chambers. Her friends claim he was stalking her in the months leading up to her death."

That's certainly a more iron-clad motive than being fired.

"Any idea of what this Poindexter guy has to do with any of the other vics? Because I might have a theory on who ganked Geurtz, but it's pretty thin."

"Thin motives don't always lead to wrong conclusions, Adachi-san," Narukami said plainly. There was another, unspoken follow-up to that thought. I'm surprised he doesn't.

You of all people would know about that.

"Fair point," I allow. "I did manage to find a journal. There's a bunch of crazy shit in here and I can't make heads or tails of it, but I bet a smart cookie like you might be able to figure something out."

Narukami goes quiet on his end for a bit before saying, "I'll meet back up with you at the apartment to discuss this. I've got some other information from Harris that we-"

"Sounds wonderful, can't wait, gonna keep looking for clues, bye." I hang up on Narukami, mostly because I know it would irritate him.

The laptop is still on, staring at me. I consider making the attempt to dig into the computer to find out any more information, but I'd probably just do some irreparable damage. So instead I just close it and leave it be.

After one last look around the room, I pat my jacket to make sure that the book is still there. Technically , taking this book with me is illegal and would make it inadmissible as evidence at a potential trial.

But I honestly doubt it's going to end that way. I know that whatever is going on here has something to do with that other world. I just have no idea how.

I leave the apartment behind. Once I hand off the journal to Narukami, I've done my part with the investigation. Let him be the hero again.