“No, sir. I’m a country boy. I moved to Hiroshima when I was eighteen to attend police academy.”
Hayashi hummed. He gave Shinji a once-over and their gaze met as Shinji waited at the traffic lights. A corner of Hayashi’s mouth curled up in a small smile and Shinji gulped, breaking eye contact and turning his attention back to the traffic lights.
He’d seen Hayashi on TV during press conferences for high profile cases. The last one had been just this morning. Shinji liked the straight to the point way Hayashi handled reporters. But he always noticed a tint of disdain for journalists in the chief’s tone and his press conference appearances were rare and brief.
And Hayashi was even more handsome in person. The stubble looked especially good on his strong jaw. He exuded confidence both during his speeches as well as on the field during the investigation—now that Shinji had finally seen him in action. But what Shinji liked most about the chief—which Shinji's former coworkers couldn’t seem to understand—was Hayashi’s defiant and no-bullshit attitude.
“Did you have a nice chat with Superintendent Yoshida?” Hayashi asked.
The light changed and Shinji accelerated, contemplating the question. He had an odd feeling it was either a trap or some sort of test. Or both.
“I did,” he answered.
Hayashi shifted in his seat and extinguished the cigarette in the car’s ashtray, then tapped out another one. “I assume he told you about me.”
“He did,” Shinji replied carefully, hoping Hayashi wouldn’t ask exactly what the superintendent had said.
“Good. So you know what to expect.” He puffed smoke through his mouth and nose. “You requested to work with me. Why?”
“Because you have the highest case clearance rate in the Criminal Investigations department.”
Hayashi made no comment about Shinji’s statement. He didn’t come across as the type to brag. Not that he needed to.
“That’s the only reason?”
Shinji shrugged. “Do I need more? You’re good at your job and I want to learn from you.”
Reaching the TMPD, Shinji pulled in the underground parking lot and stopped in the spot indicated by the chief.
“Well,” Hayashi said, taking the keys back from Shinji, “since you’re here to learn, I’ll tell you two things. First, don’t tell me you’ve spoken with the forensics when you haven’t. If you made a mistake, admitting it to me is better than lying. Second, don’t daydream during investigations. I don’t know how things were done in Hiroshima, but you work with me now. Got it?”
Shinji opened his mouth to answer back, but swallowed his words. Now was not the time to be cheeky, even though it felt unfair for the chief to think he was daydreaming. But telling him about the ghost—all the ghosts he could see—wasn’t an option either.
“Yes, sir,” Shinji said quietly. It had been a while since he had to hide his ability in front of his partner. Perhaps bringing back some of his older tricks of pretending to talk into a recorder would help keep the chief from thinking he was daydreaming.
Shinji followed Hayashi into the elevator, the ride quiet and a bit awkward. They reached the fourth floor and crossed a narrow corridor before Hayashi pulled open a door leading to the front desk.
Hayashi headed straight for the hallway on their left. A few other officers bowed in greeting and glanced curiously at Shinji. He bowed back in a hurry, slightly embarrassed that he didn’t have time to introduce himself, but Hayashi set a fast pace and didn’t seem interested in bowing or speaking with anyone.
The door to Hayashi’s office had a golden placard with his name on it and Hayashi pushed it open.
Shinji stepped inside the large office, his gaze trailing around. On the right stood a high bookcase full of folders and portfolios and next to it was a door leading to a private toilet. Hayashi’s massive desk was opposite the door in front of the open window, with a laptop, several pieces of paper neatly stacked and a landline to the far corner. An ashtray was on the windowsill, a few stubs in it. Smoking wasn’t allowed inside the building and Shinji found it rather amusing how Hayashi broke the rules in a building full of police officers.
Shinji’s new desk was on the left with a big pile of dossiers and files on it. Pinned on the wall behind his desk was a white board full of photographs and notes from another investigation. Based on the pictures alone, Shinji figured it was the case Hayashi spoke about at the press conference.
“Didn’t have a chance to sort them out yet,” Hayashi said, placing the files in folders.
Shinji caught a glimpse of a particularly detailed photograph before Hayashi put it away: a beige sofa with a huge splatter of blood on it. It piqued his interested and he planned on checking out those files when this case was over.
Preliminary forensic reports along with pictures from the crime in Yoyogi Park had been sent before they arrived here and Hayashi had picked them up from the front desk. After clearing the white board, they stuck pictures of the victim and the area of the crime with magnets and Hayashi jotted down details next to each one. When done, they rested on the edge of Shinji’s desk, both looking at the photograph of the jogger’s neck: three almost perfect lines of wire, blood covering the entire throat, a round silver pet tag with no inscription on it.
Shinji plucked the marker from the holder and wrote at the top of the white board in capital letters:
THE RED COLLAR
CHAPTER 4
Shinji