Chapter One – Ikebukuro Nights
It's not as if Adachi Tohru, murderer twice-over and a culpable accomplice in however many kidnappings, died without regrets. But there was satisfaction, at least – a sense of rightfulness that would have been alien to him a decade ago, floating behind the panic and fear, as red oozed out of his throat.
His karma had caught up to him. Ten years of trying to live a straight life again, harnessed with a burden of sins grossly heavier than he had expected them to be – he was tired. He was satisfied. If there was a hell – and from what he has seen, from what he's personally caused, he was all but sure of it – it had finally come for him.
His throat gurgled as he tried to plead for it to be quick. The luminescent yellow eyes intimately close to him curled up in amusement, as if it understood him even without him vocalizing his desire. Then it narrowed cruelly, and a pale hand reached up through the obscuring shadows and mists.
Adachi tried to scream. He had nothing to scream with. The monster had pushed him – and suddenly the shadows were gone, replaced by the sounds, the smells, the lights of a busy city, late at night. And nothing at all but empty air and electrical wiring below him.
As he hit the wires, body convulsing as deadly currents surged through his body, he couldn't help but notice the irony of his own demise – and, with shock nearly matching the ones killing him, saw a tantalizingly familiar glimpse of his killer, just before he hit the grou-
There were actually many reasons for them to move to Ikebukuro. The crime rate in the city was unusually high, bolstered by a number of high-profile gangs in the area. Adachi's disappearance into the anonymous crowds of the city was an extremely personal reason for the both of them. Souji's post-graduate work on criminal justice studies was yet another.
The fact that her grandfather was dying was the real reason.
The Shirogane family had estates in the Tokyo area, held over from long into the distant past. They weren't particularly vast or well-adorned, but neither were the family's tastes. The immense library and basement lab was far more lavish than the somewhat rudimentarily maintained front yard would suggest. The only real evidence of their family's wealth and tradition were the portraits of the Shirogane heirs that lined the hallway to the main office – and even that was utilitarian, in a way, allowing the current heir and investigator to bring to bear some psychological pressure upon an intruder, be it a client… or, on rare occasions, a suitor.
Not that it had much effect on Souji, Naoto noted ruefully as they walked down its length, fingers touching lightly. They were both dressed in suits today, clothed formally to pay their respects to the elder Shirogane. They paused momentarily as Naoto reached the portrait of her father, bowing her head in a short prayer. She knocked on the office door soon afterwards.
"You don't need to knock, Nao-chan," said a stern voice. "You know I can see you."
Naoto sheepishly opened the door. Right, video cameras hidden in the picture frames. Actually, all over the more public areas of the small manor, including the front gates. The "Phantom Thief" incident orchestrated by her grandfather wasn't just about rekindling her passion for investigative work – the fact that she believed it possible to steal from the family at all was evidence enough for her grandfather to invest in better security.
"Hmm. You're looking thin, the both of you," he said as they both entered the office and bowed. "Don't put your work above your health." He coughed, wheezing a bit through the oxygen tubes affixed to his nose, grinning ruefully despite his physical discomfort. "You'll end up looking like me."
"If we both live as long as you do, it might be worth it," said Naoto with faux cheer. Souji only smiled.
"Well, come on. Sit. I'd have the maid get tea, but I sent everybody out to get some lab supplies and run some errands. Would coffee suffice?"
"Coffee would be lovely, thank you." Souji wordlessly headed over to the coffee pot, pouring out three small cups of dark brew and carefully adjusted the sugar content.
"Hmm," said her grandfather thoughtfully, wheezing lightly as he watched the young man. Naoto raised an eyebrow. "Yes, this is fairly satisfactory."
"What is?" asked Naoto curiously.
"My life," said the elder Shirogane simply. "He's a good lad. Sharp-minded. Maybe a little reckless, but so was your father. With you two, I don't have any regrets."
"G-grandfather, you sound like I'm going to be marrying him."
"What, you aren't?" said the old detective, mockingly shocked. Souji paused for a moment himself and chuckled as he put the coffee before them.
"Maybe after my post-graduate work," said Souji as a hand brushed against her shoulders. He took his seat and picked up the suitcase he brought in, unclasping it and taking out a few files. "A few of the documents you requested, sir."
"Bah, lay that aside for now. It's rare that I get to see you two these days. How is your post-grad work, Seta-kun?"
"Nothing I can't handle," said Souji, shrugging. "I'm afraid I'm under the tutelage of one of your old rivals, though."
The elder detective snorted. "Yoshitake? He's still teaching? Old man couldn't find a fingerprint if you dusted it for him."
They laughed and talked for most of the morning, enjoying tea and freshly baked goods as the help staff came back. Nobody felt fit to note the elder Shirogane's health, who was now reliant on respiratory support, and needed help getting around his own house. It was only the sheer force of the old man's will that they had time alone without the servants – a transient illusion of normality.
Souji held Naoto's hands comfortingly as they left.
Naoto held Souji's hands reassuringly in the cold of the autopsy room. The body was covered – but the vague forms and shapes under the tarp implied a shattered ugliness.
Adachi was gone. Permanently gone.
"Investigator Shirogane. Investigator Seta," said the precinct detective wearily. It was late in the evening when they got confirmation of the identity. "I guess that ends the case for you two, huh?"
"Hmm. You sure it was a suicide?" asked Naoto. Souji donned a pair of latex gloves and approached the body. The faint, fetid smell of rot and crap intensified slightly as he lifted the tarp. The precinct detective wrinkled his nose.
"Jumped off a ten-story building? After cutting his throat too. Case closed, innit? He's a con on parole. Probably consumed by guilt."
"Detective, what do you think he cut himself with?" asked Souji suddenly.
"Um. I dunno. Never found a knife in the area, but that could mean anything. His place was a dump. Barely anybody even noticed the power outage when he fell."
Souji carefully placed the tarp back over Adachi's body and turned around. Naoto suddenly felt nervous – it was rare for Souji to express strong emotion, much less overt anger. Especially towards strangers.
"Souji, what's wrong?" she said quietly, dreading the answer.
"Fifteen lacerations," he said quietly. "The smallest was three inches across, two inches deep, all man-made."
"Huh- what?" said the detective, suddenly wide awake. "That's impossible! The coroner never said anything about that!"
"I suspect," said Souji quietly. "That the coroner didn't feel it necessary to give a convict a thorough examination. All the cuts but the one on the throat… were internal damage."
"But- how-"
"All sorts of ways," said Naoto blandly. She shot an inquisitive look at Souji. He shook his head – they'd talk about it privately later. "For now, please inform the chief of police that you have a potential murder investigation on your hands."
"He's been informed," said a gruff voice from the doorway. "Itachi-kun, this is why you're still a novice. Shirogane-san, Seta-san, my apologies – the coroner did note the internal damages, but I wanted to see if you two'd catch on it."
Naoto nodded. "I figured as much. We do have a history with the victim, after all."
"Well, it balances out, given that he tried to kill you. Anyhow, I owe Ryoutaro a favor from college – you two'll have first dibs on the investigation. We've roped off the site. You need anything else?"
Naoto sat against the edge of a counter, carefully considering her options. "Seta-kun, how are we on supplies?"
"Restocked before we left," he said simply.
"Then, for now, I'd like a profile of the neighborhood and anything you have on the vic," said Naoto.
"And a weather report for the area during the week of the incident," said Souji.
The younger detective gave a quizzical glance. "A… weather report?"
"You can learn all kinds of things from the weather," he said.
It was Saturday evening, and four kids, three of which were Raira Academy's seniors, were out to play. Which was odd, really, as except for a few quiet talks at school and on the way home – which just barely constituted as play for them – Ryuugamine Mikado and Sonohara Anri were both extremely reserved and not usually one to bar-hop. While Anri certainly looked like she was just a bit of makeup and a nosebleedingly short dress away from mixing in with the club scene, both her and Mikado were in hoodies to ward off the early spring chill.
Masaomi Kida, however, had no such reservations. In fact, was quite the other thing. His connections throughout the city was the main reason they managed to go three, four bars without a card check – not that this was necessarily a problem in this town. Or maybe it was five or six? Mikado mentally counted woozily as Kida, as was his wont, flirted with both Saki and Anri as they made their way through the city.
"Hey, Mikado! Mi-ka-do-kun!" said Kida suddenly. Or maybe he's been talking for a while. "Man, I think you had a bit much."
"Completely your fault," said Mikado. "Sheesh. What is it?"
"You heard about that jumper a few days ago, right? Well… there's been a few rumors~" said Kida, grinning as he teased them in a sing-song voice.
"Ah, c'mon. I'm sure Sonohara-san doesn't want to hear about that kind of stuff," said Mikado, smiling uncomfortably.
"No, no, not about the body," said Kida happily. "I heard the police called in a couple private investigators over it! Ever heard of the Shirogane family?"
"Eh? Who?" asked Mikado, a blank expression fully declaring his ignorance.
"She's been all over the news!" said Mikajima Saki, giggling. "The 'Empress of Investigations!'"
"Ooh. Oh, yeah," said Mikado. Thinking back, there've been some posts on the Dollars site regarding a number of high-profile arrests. "Why'd she get called over for a suicide, though? Isn't that normal police business?"
Anri paused, her eyes widening. "Kida-kun, don't tell me…"
He motioned at them to hush just before they turned a street corner. Only now did Mikado recognize the neighborhood – a low-rent district, not far from his or Anri's place, but not exactly somewhere a young man would look to for a bar or night club.
"So, wanna find out what's going on?" he asked them, grinning impishly. "Even the Dollars don't know what's up, right?"
"We'll get in trouble," said Anri a little fearfully.
"Only if you trespass on the scene," said a new voice. A hand reached out behind the corner, causing Kida to jump in surprise as it tapped his shoulder. "You know, if you're going to sneak up on a crime scene, you probably shouldn't be so loud about it." Naoto gave the teens a reproachful look. "…is that alcohol I smell?"
"Um- ah…" started Mikado, sobered up in alarm. Anri also straightened up in a fit of nerves.
"…regardless," said Naoto, shrugging. "It would be a waste of a jail cell. Do any of you live in this area?"
"U-um…" started Mikado. A picture of a thin man, hair mussed and a scraggly, unkempt beard, stared out from under his nose.
"Do you recognize this man?" she asked.
A DSLR camera hung from Souji's neck as he sighed, scratching his head. Sure, the roof might've been cordoned off, as was… well, the terminal impact zone. That doesn't mean they had a better idea of how he died. Even the time of death was suspect – this neighborhood was one of Ikebukuro's more subdued areas, a back-alley way hidden from the sights and sounds of the shopping districts. Best they could manage was a few drug stashes unrelated to the demise of Adachi Tohru. There was a knife – an old switchblade, encrusted with grime and covered with dust. Given its undisturbed condition, it was clearly unrelated to the incident.
He mused. They weren't covering any ground that the local police haven't – mainly it was a verification of the facts presented. Adachi Tohru had gone missing some time before his parole checkup. He was working in the construction industry during the interim – and while Souji was sure the low-tier labor position grated against the former detective's sense of self, there was no indication of any problems since the start of his parole. For the last ten years, Adachi had been almost a model citizen – well, mainly, he kept his head low and stayed out of trouble. For all intents and purposes, that was enough.
They checked out his apartment. The only oddity would've been noticed by Souji and Naoto: the man did not own a television set. Not that major a detail, and only relevant if one knew the truth of his actions in Inaba a decade ago. He didn't even have porn – the man lived a fastidious, almost monk-like life.
Souji's eyes narrowed. Actually, even after Inaba, that was suspicious unto itself. The place had been lived in – cartons of instant ramen in the trash, empty bottles of beer in the recycling bin, and the futon had been slept in. But even lived in, the room was… lifeless. As if he spent only as much time as he could bear within its confines.
His phone rang. "Seta Souji speaking," he said.
"It's me," said Naoto. "Come down. We'll get dinner and discuss. Love you."
"Love you too. I'll see you down."
Well, he'd think better with some food. Maybe.
It wasn't the Black, Russian street hawker that intimidated him. There was a textile shop owner of their acquaintance, after all, who had a similarly impressive physique, and had as gentle an expression – at least, in front of cats and small children. No, the intimidating part had nothing to do with the scarred chef or the street hawker or the blonde bartender enjoying a drink at the bar with a shady-looking suited man in dreadlocks.
It was definitely the sushi.
"…kimchi," said Souji as he chewed thoughtfully. "Not bad, actually."
Naoto shuddered. This was something nobody knew – not even Rise. The actress ate out all the time, though he sometimes cooked bento for her like back in high school. Excellent ones too – Naoto always felt privileged to find that Souji found the time to cook for her. The man himself, though, would eat anything.
"You sure you don't want to try-"
"No, thank you," said Naoto quickly. "I'll stick with the more… traditional fare." The barbequed eel was pretty good, actually – but her appetite always palled a bit whenever she snuck a glance at Souji's "House Special" plate.
"Hm. Oyster this time," said Souji methodologically. "Freshly shucked – still alive I thi-"
"Please," interrupted Naoto. "J-just talk about the case."
He grinned. The tease. "Adachi's room. Too bare."
She nodded, relieved at the change in topic. "Right. I felt as much as well. His mental state can't be read at all from his work or place of residence. In fact, he has no company whatsoever outside of work, other than his parole officer and counselor."
"You figured out his habits?" It was more a statement than a question.
"Yes. As suspected, he only occupies his apartment when necessary. There is a four to five-hour discrepancy between his end of a work shift and his coming home. Unfortunately, I know little beyond that."
Souji washed down the oyster thoughtfully with a mouthful of beer. "No suspect, no motive, and no idea how he really died. He had enemies in prison of course, but none are in a position to play into this."
Naoto sighed. "Usually I'd treat this as an intellectual challenge, but given his role as a victim…"
He nodded solemnly. None of them would exactly wish Adachi well – in fact, they were originally supposed to track him down. His odd death, though, was ominous.
"You don't think…" she murmured quietly, a careful, investigative look at his gray eyes.
"…Ted's said that his side's been as peaceful as ever," he said slowly. But there was a flicker of doubt, barely readable but for the time she's been with him, on and off.
"So we're on the same page."
"No, not quite." He stared back at her. "My nightmares… Adachi was in them last time. At the… end."
Naoto suppressed a shudder, taking a deep draught of her green tea. "That's… unusual."
"I'm… not sure if his injuries in my dreams matches that of the corpse, but… his throat."
She nearly choked.
"…ah, I'm sorry." He drew out a napkin for her and handed it over. She dabbed at the corners of her mouth.
"…it's a bit light to draw any conclusions on for now," she said as she quickly got her composure back. "But given our experiences, I am loathe to disregard it outright. We… know that Inaba's safe. But as Teddie's postulated, the peace there may only be a reflection of the town itself." She looked askance at the restaurant interior. The two other men had already left, and the chef was busy cleaning. "Remind me to go over the Port City incident with you – there were some interesting parallels with the Inaba case that weren't publicly disclosed, and it happened only a year prior."
"Port City… Gekkoukan High," said Souji, eyes widening in interest. "The Kirijo Group invited Rise for a charity event in the area."
"Excellent. If Kirijo Mitsuru is in attendance, we might be able to arrange a meeting."
Souji contemplated Naoto for a moment. "This is a very, very thin lead."
"We have literally nothing else," she retorted.
"Yes, but-"
"JUST DIE ALREADY, YOU FUCKING FLEA!" bellowed out a voice from outside. Naoto and Souji both flinched as a deafening crash of steel and concrete followed closely. The sushi chef merely sighed.
"Just what the hell was that?" yelled Naoto, cursing uncharacteristically in surprise. Souji put a hand in front of her, stern eyes glancing at the entryway as the other hand reached into a pocket. A spring-loaded collapsible baton – illegal, technically, but at times necessary.
"I can take care of myself too!" she hissed as she moved his hand aside. "Hurry." He nodded and they rushed out, yelling out a promise to be back to pay for their meal.
Just in time for Souji to very nearly miss having his head knocked off by a flying vending machine. For the first time in her life, Naoto wasn't just glad to be a woman, but short.
"Holy shit!" spat out Souji – even more uncharacteristic than her own earlier outburst.
"!" roared the blonde bartender, his formerly otherwise low-key profile replaced by an almost palpable, undulating wave of berserker rage. An entire vending machine, a second one, was already hoisted over his head, almost as if without effort. "STAY STILL SO I CAN KILL YOOOOUUUUU!"
A black-haired man, not much older and dressed in a dark fur-trimmed parka, laughed merrily – and dangerously – as he waved a flick knife. Not at the bartender, but at the two investigators.
"Ah, Shirogane-san," he said as he nimbly dodged a crashing mallet of steel and carbonated drinks. "I'm afraid I have bad timing today! But if you're still stumped about Adachi, look me up in Shibuya, yeah? I'm Orihara Izaya – it's nice to meet you."
His mocking laughter could still be heard as he made his escape from the blonde embodiment of rage.
Ikebukuro was an interesting town.
