—Chapter 15—Tuesday, May 10th, Midday—

Once again, the ringing of a phone caused an increase in Dean Giichi Yoshinora's blood pressure. Taking a shaky breath, he answered it. "This is Dean Yoshinora."

"Oh, Giichi, I'm so glad I caught you," said a voice the dean recognized, though he could scarcely believe his ears. "I'm sure this whole 'Midnight Blade' nonsense has you running ragged. It's Watanabe."

The dean took a beat to register the name. "Masashi? Is it really you?" The dean let the question hang.

"Yes, it's me. How have you been, old friend?"

The dean exhaled sharply, leaning back in his office chair. "I'm fine—just terribly busy. I imagine you're the one who's being run ragged though—what a time to be Chief of Police!"

"Yes, about that," he said, losing some of the congeniality of his tone, "I'm afraid this isn't just a social call."

The dean's heart rate increased just slightly, and he waited to see if his old friend would continue talking. He didn't. "What is it, Masashi?"

"Listen, this is awkward…" The chief of police hesitated, chewing on his words. "I need you to promise that you'll keep this conversation strictly between the two of us."

"Of course, Masashi. What do you need?"

"It's about the latest victim—the student of yours. You heard about it, right?"

The dean chuffed. "Our office provided the CPF with the surveillance footage—nothing gets past me."

"Well, there's a complication. You see, the victim… is my nephew…"

The dean began to sweat. "Oh, Masashi, I'm so sorry… Is there anything I can do?"

"Now, now, don't sound so sad," said the chief dismissively. "It's not as dire as it sounds. He's alive."

At that, the dean was stunned silent. It took considerable effort to speak again. "He… He lived?"

"Yeah, he did—but I might kill him…" he added, with a frustrated sigh. "Stupid little bastard was fucking high. It's a huge embarrassment, and is creating quite a mess for us to clean up."

The dean had recovered from his initial shock, and was back in detective mode. "Does he remember anything about what happened to him?"

The chief sighed. "Nothing helpful, I can assure you. He was high on PCP, of all things, so his memory is fucked. He remembers why he went there, but not a lot about what happened afterwards."

"Did he see his attacker?" asked the dean, taking a sip of water from a glass on his desk.

"He fucking knew his attacker, Giichi, so he could pick the kid in the video out of a lineup, no problem. The trouble is, my stupid nephew probably instigated the attack—his prints were also on the knife we recovered. He hasn't admitted it yet, but I think he was there to fuck up the kid who stabbed him—this Ren Amamiya. My nephew's girlfriend put out a restraining order against him, and Amamiya is a friend of hers. My nephew probably thought they were fucking, and went there looking for trouble—we even have video your office gave us of him at the same dorm a week earlier, freaking out inside his car. He was goddamn stalking them."

"I hate to say this, Masashi, but your nephew sounds like trouble."

"Oh, he's a good kid, he just gets too worked up about things. Like me, he doesn't like to lose. He just picked the wrong target to vent his frustrations on."

"You think he went up against a serial killer?"

"Well, we don't have anything conclusive on Amamiya to tie him to the murders yet, but so far, he's the only suspect we have. He was carrying a knife, so he's certainly a delinquent, and one we'd like to get our hands on. He also has a prior conviction for assault—overturned, but still. He doesn't completely match the profile, but it's close enough—those aren't an exact science anyway."

"Of course. Do you have a motive sorted out?"

"Serial killers don't have motives, Giichi, you know that. They just target whoever the hell they feel like."

"Well, the specific victims don't usually matter, that's true, but there's always a reason. Deep-seated anger, political frustration, sexual gratification… The list goes on."

"Kid just likes to knife people."

The dean gave a small chuckle. "Good enough, I suppose. Good luck finding him, Masashi."

"Thanks."

"There's something else I'm curious about, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Ask away, old friend."

"If your nephew's not dead, why did you tell the media that he was?"

"We didn't, actually. We were very careful with how we worded the statement to the press. 'There was a fifth victim', 'another person was stabbed', and so forth—we never actually said he was dead. That was entirely their inference."

"Well then why not correct the record? Why not tell the media that he lives?"

"Because he's such an embarrassment, that's why!" shouted the chief. "I don't need the whole world knowing that my goddamn girlfriend-abusing nephew got fucked up on drugs and tried to kill someone half his size! And lost! I'd prefer to keep him sympathetic, if it's all the same."

The dean was speechless.

Feeling like he was being silently judged by his former comrade, the police chief softened his tone. "Don't get me wrong, Giichi, that's not the only reason… If Amamiya knew Tetsuo—my nephew—was alive, he might try to finish the job. Just to make sure that he couldn't be identified."

"So you're letting the public believe that Amamiya is a killer even though you have no conclusive evidence against him for the previous killings, and the one victim you can tie him to isn't actually dead and was so high at the time of the stabbing that he can't remember it even happening?"

"Yoshi-san," said the chief, getting impatient, "we have him on tape, stabbing Tetsuo in the gut. We have his prints on a fucking knife. He's got a prior record. If he's not a serial killer, he's at least a danger to society. We can sort out the details after we catch him."

The dean smiled—this was exactly how he remembered things going at the department, alright. "Okay, so, what is it you were hoping to get out of this phone call, old friend?"

"You don't have to say it like that, Giichi. Don't forget who got you that cushy job you have now."

The dean rolled his eyes. "Forgive me, Masashi—you're right. I don't mean to sound so judgemental. All I meant was, how can I help you?" His tone was completely sincere.

The chief sighed deeply. "Thank you, my friend. My nephew is… He's going to be getting some help. I know it's against the Academy's rules for its students to be involved in drugs, so I'd like your help coming up with an official reason for him to take some time off from school that won't get him expelled. He was attacked by a serial killer, after all—there must be some sort of special treatment he can get. He's a good kid, he just did something dumb—I don't want any of this to compromise his future. My sister will never let me hear the end of it if he doesn't land a job with the CPF, and a tainted record would make that a lot harder for me to pull off."

"Is that all? You want me to look the other way while you get him some drug treatment?"

"That should be it, yes. Is that too much to ask?"

The dean smiled. "No, not at all. I've got your back."

"Thank you, Giichi. This makes us even."

"Ha, of course."

"And Giichi? I know this wasn't the best reason for me to pick up the phone, but… it was really good to talk to you again."

"Likewise, Masashi. We should go out sometime—get a sake, like old times."

The chief barked a laugh. "If our wives will ever let us."

The two men exchanged a beat of silence. At last, the chief gave his farewell. "Bye, Gii-san."

Finally, the dean hung up the phone, breathing a sigh of relief.

—

Jiro stood in the middle of Naomi and Emiko's living room with his suitcase beside him. "Man, I can't thank you two enough for putting me up. Seriously."

"Of course, Jiro-kun! I wouldn't have it any other way!"

It didn't come as a surprise to Jiro that Naomi would welcome him into her home under these circumstances (though it did come as a blessing), but his message of thanks wasn't meant solely for her ears. He knew that it was Emiko he was really imposing upon, and he took it as a kindness that she wasn't being openly hostile to him: A houseguest she didn't really know and didn't necessarily care for. He was attached to Naomi, and even that hadn't been true two weeks ago.

"It's fine," said Emiko. "Hopefully, this whole mess will resolve itself soon enough, and we can go back to something of a normal school year at some point…"

"Too true," he agreed, feeling awkward. In spite of Naomi's welcome, Emiko's lukewarm acceptance put him a little off his game. This felt different than the many evenings and nights he'd spent in their shared home over the last twelve days. On each of those occasions, there had been the unspoken possibility that 'in-the-morning-he'll-get-the-fuck-out' which was something that Emiko could no longer count on. He couldn't blame her for being unhappy with this whole situation, even if they were on the lam. Sort of. In a very short period of time, both of her best friends had acquired live-in boyfriends, and she was pretty much backed into a corner when it came to going along with that. He made a mental note not to make too big a nuisance of himself. Maybe even let her win a couple rounds of multiplayer Tetris.

"Sooooo," he began, clapping his hands together. "Where, uh, where should I set up?"

"Naomi's desk should be big enough for you to set up there," said Emiko. "I'll be in my room doing some research of my own. Let us know if you find anything."

"Will do," said Jiro, as he watched Emiko retreat into her room and close the door.

Naomi followed after her. "Emi-chan, your sandwich!" she said, plate in hand as she pushed Emiko's door back open. Once her friend had been fed, Naomi closed the door and left her alone again. She then took her boyfriend by the arm. "Come on, Jiro! Let's get you set up in my room."

Once they were in her room, Jiro dragged his suitcase over to the far wall and tipped it over. Before opening it though, he went over to his girlfriend and gave her a big hug. "Thank you for making me feel so welcome here. I know this is different from just crashing here for a night—there's no set expectation for when I'll be able to leave, so, just… thanks for being so nice about it."

"Ohhhh, Jiro, you don't have to thank me. We're detectives on a case! Also, you're cute." She wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a big kiss on the mouth. He happily reciprocated.

"You're so wonderful," he said, adding another peck to her cheek. "So, is it okay for me to set up here?" he asked, gesturing to her overcrowded desk. Her own computer was surrounded with knick-knacks and stuffed animals—she kept her school books in piles on the floor.

"Oh sure, just toss the stuffies on the floor to make space, it's fine."

Jiro did as she suggested, except that he did it gently, moving just enough things to the floor that he was able to get his computer situated on her desk and plugged in. Sitting down, he booted it up, cracked his knuckles, and prepared to do his thing.

—Tuesday, May 10th, Afternoon—

Makoto and Ren had been napping together for the better part of the last two hours. In those couple of hours, they'd slept more deeply and awoken more refreshed than either of them had the night before, in the aftermath of Tetsuo's death.

Makoto sat up in bed to see her room all lit up by the afternoon sun, littered with clothing from end to end. Climbing out of bed, she walked around to the other side and over to the open window shade. Lowering it, she cast the room into a state of false twilight, but at least there was some privacy. Walking back to the other side of the room, she reached for her clothing from earlier. Standing there naked, holding her clothes, she debated whether or not to wear the same things again, or go for something fresh. Shrugging, she decided to just put it all right back on—she might be seeing everyone else again later, and there would be fewer side-eyes cast her way if she looked the same as she did when they'd left.

Ren stirred. Feeling for her in the now empty part of the bed, he groaned himself awake. Spotting her standing there, now fully dressed, he sat up and let the sheets settle around his waist, assessing his own nakedness. "None of what I'm seeing is leading me to believe that the last twenty-four hours have been a dream," he said.

"People only say things like that when everything they've experienced was either really great or really horrible," Makoto said.

"It can be two things," he said. "There are definitely elements of the last twenty-four hours that I would hate to trade away for anything."

"Even if losing them meant that the other elements never happened?" she asked. She didn't really expect a response, but to her surprise, he looked like he was really contemplating a serious answer to the question.

After a moment's consideration, he had his conclusion. "If trading them away meant trading them away for good, that I could never experience them ever… then yes—I wouldn't trade them. Does that make me a terrible person?"

Makoto sighed. "Honey… I don't know what it makes you. But I'm right there with you."

He nodded. "At least we'll burn in hell together."

"Get dressed," she said. "I'll, uh… I'll wash your knife for you," she added, plucking his stiletto off the carpet and carrying it to the bathroom.

"Oh god, that's right… Yeah, sorry Tetsuo, I feel bad, but no, I'm not trading this away, sorry. I'll try to find the person who killed you though, how's that?"

Makoto smiled guiltily. They really were going to burn in hell.

Ren climbed out of bed and reached for his jeans and underwear. At the bathroom sink, Makoto kept her eyes on the knife, mostly to avoid peeking at him in the mirror above—she did have some restraint.

"We still have the sandwiches that Naomi made for us," she called to him. "Hungry?"

Now dressed, Ren wandered into the bathroom and examined his reflection in the mirror from over Makoto's shoulder. "Starving," he said, kissing her on the neck. Inspecting himself, he combed a few stray hairs back into place with his fingers, then took over knife-cleaning duty.

Makoto stepped aside to give him better access to the sink, then examined her own reflection. She picked up her hairbrush and ran it over her scalp. Suddenly, the most random, unbidden thought passed through her head: Both of these items have been in my pussy. She blew out her cheeks, trying not to snort in laughter.

"Everything okay?" he asked, drying off his knife with Makoto's bath towel.

"Dandy," she said.

He raised his eyebrows suspiciously, scrunching up his forehead. "Really?"

"Yeah, it's fine, really. I just had the weirdest thought, and I'd rather not have to tell you what it was."

With his foot up on the toilet, about to put his knife away, he looked at her anxiously. "Well, now you have to tell me what it was…"

"No, really, please… You don't really want to know, and you can't unhear it if I say it, so I'd really rather just… not."

"Sigh, whatever."

"I'm just gonna get food ready, okay?"

"Sounds good," he said. "I'll be out in a minute."

She left him there to do his business and walked into the kitchen. Her phone was still in her coat pocket from earlier, so she pulled it out and checked her messages.

Several messages from Emiko. It looked like she'd been sending her updates as she learned new things.

I've got a map and list made of all the killings so far
I'm trying to put together alibis for Ren for each of them
You said you were his alibi for the 4/29 murder, and Jiro swears they'd have been home together on the 25th, when the 2nd one died, because that was a 'school night, and they're good boys who don't go out late'…
Jiro thinks he saw Ren's ticket stub from his train into town somewhere in his satchel, and we think that might clear him for the first murder
That body was found on the morning of April 6th, believed to have been killed on the 5th
Jiro also thinks they were home together on the night of the 7th, when #4 happened
*May* 7th, that is
If all this pans out, then the only night we don't have an alibi for is Tetsuo
We can't prove it wasn't a crime of passion, or of self-defense, but I think we could defend him against charges that he's the serial killer

Makoto was less optimistic. Just because a few friends could attest to him having been at home for most of the killings did not mean the police would stop investigating him. They would sooner see the whole lot of them as accomplices before they would give up on this one big, juicy lead. The ticket stub was really the best alibi they had, if they could find it, and that would only save him from one charge, at most.

She stepped into the kitchen and gathered up the plate with the sandwiches on it. They'd been sitting uncovered for over two hours, so a couple of flies were forced to vacate at her arrival, and the bread was a little stale in places. She took a bite anyway—still pretty good.

Before she could put together anything for them to drink, her phone rang: Jiro. Her pulse quickened at the thought of whatever he might have uncovered. Anxiously, she accepted the call. "Hi Jiro, what's up? Find anything?"

"Hi Makoto, yeah—it's not good. I can't find what we thought we'd find."

Makoto's heart sank. "What? What do you mean? What did you find?" She started walking from the kitchen back to the bedroom to find Ren, but movement through her front windows stopped her dead in her tracks. Jiro had already started talking again, but she talked right over him. "Oh shit. Oh fuck… Jiro, I gotta go. The cops are here!" Running hurriedly through her living room and into the bedroom, she found Ren just vacating the bathroom, a flushing sound in his wake. The look on her face spoke of the emergency.

"What is it?" he asked urgently.

"Cops! Move!" she whispered frantically. She jerked him back toward the kitchen. On the way there, they could both see the two plainclothes detectives coming up the walk. "You have your phone?" she asked.

"Yeah, I've got it!" he said, throwing the deadbolt open on the back door.

"Wait a sec!" she cried, grabbing something on the kitchen counter. She pressed it into his palm, kissed him, and shoved him out the back door.

Outside, Ren took a moment to scan his surroundings. There were only a few feet between the house and the narrow service road separating her row of houses from the backs of the houses on the adjacent street. He ran the length of the road, looking for somewhere he could slip between those houses and be on that next street over. Soon, he was out of sight of Makoto's house.

In the kitchen, Makoto was steeling herself for the knock at the door. To make herself look more casual, she snatched a sandwich from the plate and took a bite out of it. Then the knock came.

"Ms. Niijima?" a man called through the door. "Capital Police. May we have a word with you please?"

Makoto swallowed a bit of sandwich she'd taken. It went down like glue. Holding it in her hand, she went to the door, unlocked it, and greeted the detectives. "Oh, hello," she said, still working a bit of unswallowed sandwich around in her mouth. "Can I help you with something?"

"We're sorry to interrupt your meal, Ms. Niijima. We saw that you had some mail out front—I hope it's okay that we grabbed it for you. Here you go."

"Oh, thank you very much," she said, accepting the mail with her one free hand. "But I assume you two gentlemen didn't come here just to give me my mail?"

The detective gave a short chuckle. "Heh, no, I'm afraid not. My name is Detective Hotaru Naabe, and this is Detective Yamamoto." They held out their identification for Makoto to see. "May we come in?"

"Uh, yes, please," she said, stepping inside and holding the door open for them to enter. The two men stepped through the door and into the living room.

"Ms. Niijima," said Detective Naabe. "Do you know why we're here?"

Tetsuo's name hasn't been made public, she reminded herself. "Uh, well, I think I recognize your name from the news this morning, so I'm a little nervous what this could be about," she said.

"So you may have heard that I'm leading the investigation into the man the media has dubbed 'The Midnight Blade'? You're aware there was a fifth victim? —I'm sorry," he said, interrupting himself, "but may we have a seat at your table?"

"Yes, o-of course," she said, ushering them in that direction. "I'm sorry, I don't have anything to offer you to drink except water." She threw the handful of mail on the table as she approached it.

The men took their seats at the table, and Makoto sat facing them, her back to the wall. "We're fine, miss, but thank you," said the detective. "So the fifth victim…" he said, letting it hang in the air.

Makoto looked at the detective warily. "I'm sorry…" she said, looking more anxious. "Are you about to tell me… it's someone I know?"

The officers looked at one another. "I'm afraid so, Ms. Niijima. The victim has been identified as Tetsuo Watanabe."

Makoto covered her mouth with her hand, dropping the sandwich she was holding onto the table. "Oh my god," she whispered. She tried to channel what someone would say and do if they were really getting this kind of information for the first time. She tried to remember what she'd done when Jiro first told her. "Tetsuo… is dead?"

"We found him lying in an alley on campus. He'd been stabbed several times," he said clinically. "We were hoping you could answer some questions for us, to help us better understand the circumstances surrounding what happened."

"Jesus," she said, looking stunned. "I don't know. I'll try."

"Thank you, miss. First of all, can you please tell us the nature of your acquaintance with Mister Watanabe?"

"U-uh," she stuttered, picking up her sandwich and putting it back on the plate, "he was my boyfriend for about three months."

"Was?"

"Yes. We broke up a couple weeks ago. At the start of Golden Week."

"Can you tell us why you broke up with him?"

"Yes," she said. "We were at a party together on the night before Showa Day. At the party, he drugged me and tried to assault me, but one of my friends stopped him in time. I broke up with Tetsuo the next morning."

The detectives exchanged glances, Naabe nodding almost imperceptibly at Yamamoto. "And who was this friend who stopped him from assaulting you?"

"His name is Ren," she answered.

"Ren Amamiya?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, crinkling her brow at them. "How do you know his name already?" She had decided to play it like she hadn't been watching the news all morning.

"Ms. Niijima," he began, "Ren Amamiya is a suspect in Mister Watanabe's attack."

Makoto gasped. "Are you serious?" she cried. "No. No, that's not right at all. Are you saying he's The Midnight Blade? That's absurd!"

"I'm sorry, Ms. Niijima, but there is substantial evidence against him. He is currently our prime suspect."

"Well, you need to look harder!" she cried. "There's simply no way it was Ren who killed all those people!"

"He was seen on video surveillance footage striking Mister Watanabe in the stomach in the alley just outside the dorm where he lives."

"Well, that was probably self-defense!" she yelled, throwing her hands in the air. "Tetsuo was stalking him! He had even strangled Ren and threatened to kill him!"

"Do you have evidence of this?"

"Yes! I do! Here," she said, pulling out her phone. "This is my text message history with Tetsuo. I know I mentioned these things in here." She didn't have to swipe very far to find the ones where she told Tetsuo about the restraining order and alluded to his threats and physical assault on Ren. "See? And I can produce messages I exchanged with other people that corroborate the same story."

"Yes, Ms. Niijima, we've read Mister Watanabe's texts. And we already knew about the protective order—and that you were acquainted with Ren Amamiya."

"Well then why do I have to tell you these things? Couldn't you see already that Tetsuo and I used to date, and why we broke up?"

"Is it the case that you left Mister Watanabe to pursue a relationship with Amamiya?" the detective asked.

Makoto was stunned silent. "I'm sorry—how is that relevant? Tetsuo tried to assault me. I left him because it had been his intention to rape me. I filed a restraining order—you know that."

"You wouldn't be trying to cover for Ren Amamiya, would you?" asked the detective.

"Cover for what? He didn't do anything!"

"Please calm down, miss. There's no need to get emotional."

That comment genuinely pissed her off. "Excuse me?" she seethed. "There's no need to get emotional? You just told me my friend murdered my ex-boyfriend—and not just him, but all the others too! I think this is the perfect time to get emotional!"

"Can you tell us where Mister Amamiya might be?" asked the detective, trying to redirect the conversation. "He's fled his dormitory. That's not something an innocent man does, is it?" he asked.

Makoto wanted to punch him. "It's what an innocent man might do if he believed no one was on his side," she said plainly. "I'm sure you know about his prior criminal record—does it matter at all to you that that conviction was also proven to be bogus? The Prime Minister recanted his testimony against him. He was innocent then, and he's innocent now."

"We certainly hope that's true," said the detective. "And if it is, the evidence will surely point us in that direction. It would make things a lot easier, though, if Mister Amamiya would come with us down to the station so we can hear the explanation from him," he said. "What was he doing in that alley? Do you know?"

"He lives there," spat Makoto. "A better question is, 'What was Tetsuo doing in that alley?'"

"And why does he feel it's necessary to carry a knife?" asked the detective, staring right into Makoto's eyes.

She knew the reason, but it wasn't a reason anyone who didn't really know him would accept. "He's in the Blades class at school," she said. "It's the weapon he's studying." She knew the excuse sounded lame, but it was the only one she could give that was both believable and true—even if it wasn't honest.

"Well. Sort of an unfortunate coincidence, huh…" he said, goading her.

She studied him with narrowed eyes. "It is unfortunate."

The detective sat still for a moment, evaluating her. The officer sitting next to him had just been taking notes this whole time. "Can you tell us where Amamiya is now?" he asked again.

"No, I can't," she said. "If he's not in his dorm, then I don't know where he is." This was the first genuinely misleading thing she'd said so far, though she consoled herself that she hadn't actually seen which direction he'd run off in.

"Well," said the detective, pushing his chair away from the table, "I hope you'll let us know if you hear from him. You are in a relationship, after all," he baited her.

Makoto wished she could confidently refute that claim, but she didn't want to be caught in a lie. So far, she thought she'd done a good job sticking up for Ren without actually having to be too dishonest about it. She decided to remain silent on that point.

"Have you looked at all into whether he has an alibi for any of the other deaths?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"We'll let Mister Amamiya present his own alibis when we speak with him. Good day, Ms. Niijima," he said, dropping his business card on her table and seeing himself to the door. The other detective followed dutifully behind him.

Makoto locked the door behind them and stood at the window to watch them leave. As soon as the car was out of sight, she pulled out her phone and texted her friends to tell them that the cops had left, and to have them text Ren and let him know—since she was probably going to be surveilled at some point too, if she wasn't already. Not that it would do any immediate good—she knew his phone was off.