Disclaimer: Kamen Rider was made by Shotaro Ishinomori and owned by Toei. The Kamen Rider Spirits manga, the inspiration of this story, was written by Kenichi Muraeda.
For Ichijo, New York City was like Tokyo in some ways. It was a large city, plenty of skyscrapers, crowds everywhere, and of course, there was crime. There was always news of a mugging or a murder, just like there would be in Japan. As a detective, Ichijo could see the signs of gangs and robberies everywhere, as if they were a common occurrence.
Though, Ichijo guessed that was not the reason he was here. He arrived in New York a couple days ago, at the request of the Tokyo police's superintendent, to work with the local police after being told of a number of "mysterious murders." Said murders had little detail to go on, but the tiny details were burrowed in Ichijo's mind as he pondered on the perpetrators. It was all the more convenient when there had been murder today, of all days.
"Mr. Ichijo, we're here," Ichijo heard from his left. It was his driver, a typical New York cop whom Ichijo did not learn his name.
"Thank you," Ichijo said in his heavily accented English before he left the car.
Stepping out of the cop car and wrapping himself in his long brown coat, Ichijo noticed the crime scene immediately. Not so hard when there was a section of Time Square, New York's major commercial center, had been cleared away of its crowds and replaced with sirens blaring and flashing in broad daylight. Men in thick blue coats and emergency uniforms attended to the area, inspecting whatever had been there and keeping civilians from staring.
"Mr. Ichijo!" came from the crime scene.
Ichigo saw behind the yellow tape was his liaison with the NYPD, Mr. Jackson, wearing an officer's blue uniform. Waving back, Ichigo approached the officer and was let through the yellow tape. As Ichigo came under, Jackson said with visible breath, "Glad you could make it. Things haven't been looking too good."
"What happened here?" Ichijo said whilst rubbing his hands to keep warm and glancing over the cops and yellow tape.
"Another death, sixth this week. Cocoa?" answered the young African American, who held out his steaming cup. Despite the kind offer, Ichijou shook his head, and Jackson took a sip. "Anyway, we've been looking into this for the past month. We haven't come up with any leads so far."
For some reason, something gnawed at the back of Ichijo's mind, telling him there was something familiar. He pushed it aside and said, "Maybe this investigation can shed some right on this?"
"Right?" Jackson raises an eyebrow before he got it. "Oh, you mean light! Yeah, that's what the chief is hoping!"
"Um, yes," Ichijo said with a slight frown, perturbed by the use of l's in the English language.
Just then, a rough voice shouted "Jackson, has that detective shown up yet!?'
"He's here, chief! I'll bring him over!" Jackson called over his shoulder. Looking back at Ichijo, he whispered, "You should be careful. The chief isn't in the best of moods."
Ichijo nodded, and they both headed to the source of the bellow. Passing the ambulance truck, the cop cars, and their attendants, Ichigo found a Caucasian man in a cop uniform, and aged with experience, standing next to the victim's body. The biggest hint was the blood staining the sheet that covered the body.
Coming up to the man, Jackson began the introductions. "Chief, this is the detective from Japan, Kaoru Ichijo."
The chief shook Ichijo's hand, and the winter air made the burly man's breath become visible as he spoke. "Chief Thomas Brown. Thank you for coming at such short notice."
Ichijo tried not to wince under the strong grip and flexed his hand behind his back once it was freed. "Nice to meet you, Chief Brown. May I see the body?"
Brown gestured a "go ahead," and Ichigo knelt down and gently lifted the cover off the body. Under it was a face, female and Caucasian, left in a state of horror with the mouth hung open. The skin hung close to the bone, so much that she looked more like a mummy than a real person. On the side of her neck was an incision, still pouring small amounts of blood onto the road.
"Who…" Ichijo asked, but Jackson quickly explained.
"Margaret Danvers, a reporter of the New York Times. Witnesses say she was running out into the street, bleeding everywhere. Before anyone could do anything, she fell over and died."
Brown huffed in irritation. "It happened two hours ago, around 3:00 PM. Every witness we've questioned says they found her like this immediately after she died. And in broad daylight!"
The gnawing returned and continued further into the front of Ichijo's mind. This was starting to sound too familiar, but Ichijo did not want to make any assumptions just yet. Looking at the cut on the victim's neck, Ichijo asked, "And this? What do you think?"
"Well, it looks like whoever did it must be extremely good," Jackson commented as he himself had a look. "Pretty close to the jugular. It'd be impossible to not notice that."
Ichijo filed that information away as he put the cover back on the victim. He stood and asked his two compatriots, "You said she was a reporter. Did she have anything on her? A camera?"
"She did have her phone," Brown said. "There were a couple of pictures, but they're blurred. I doubt they would do you any good."
"Can I see it?"
Ichijo took a mental note of Brown's small frown before the older man called for another cop. Given the phone, Brown handed it over to Ichijo and said, "Here it is. Just make sure to be careful. We'll need it for evidence."
Ichijo nodded before he held the phone in his gloved hands. It was a flip phone, bloodstained-free, bright pink, and it was already open, so Ichijo took the time to look through. The screen was cracked, which hindered the image slightly. Still, it wasn't hard to make out the figure in the picture. It had a humanoid body, with a strange shape, claw-like appendages, and if Ichijo was right, a small object in its right hand.
In spite of how little Ichiji had seen, the figure looked freakish. Seeing the image took him back to nine years ago, when he was young man, just twenty six, working for the Tokyo police. Back then, he had been caught into cases with unusual murders and hunting for...
The gnawing sensation turned into full realization. "It can't be," Ichijo said in Japanese.
The two Americans, not understanding a word, glanced at the foreign cop. "Have a clue, Mr. Ichijo?" Brown said.
Ichijo said nothing at first. After staring at the picture for a long moment, he handed the phone back. "See what you can find," Ichijo said, "As soon as you study this, send me a copy of your findings. And I need a copy of the autopsy report."
To that, Brown inquired, "What do you want with the findings?"
"A 'hunch,' as you say," Ichijo explained as he pointed a finger at the phone. "Whatever's on there may be the key to the murderers and where they are."
"'They?'" Brown repeated in derision, and Ichijo slightly regretted his choice of words.
"Chief," Jackson spoke on Ichijo's behalf, "it can't hurt to give it a shot."
The slight objection flickered on the chief's face before he gave in. "Fine, I'll have it ready," he said.
"Thank you," Ichijo gave a small bow of his head and took his leave.
As he left in slow strides, Ichijo could hear Jackson say, "Don't worry, chief. You won't regret it."
"I'd better not. I don't want to worry about some monsters my kids dress up," Brown's voice came overhead. "The paperwork is going to..."
Whatever was said was drowned by the cop cars' sirens. Despite the chief's outrageous statement, Ichijo wished the burly man's thoughts were true. It had been nine years since then, and Ichijo really hoped he was wrong about his suspicions. For now, he had to make a few calls.
AN: A little sneak peek of what I have in store for my Kamen Rider: HEISEI Spirits story. It still has A LOT of work before I can even publish the first chapter, but hopefully, the wait and effort will be worth it.
Raika out.