“Besides mentioning her job, nothing else.”
“Was there anyone else with her?”
The teen shook his head. “My shift matches her schedule and I’ve only ever seen her coming alone.”
“Did you notice anyone suspicious lurking around here in the past few days?”
The boy thought for a bit, scratching the nape of his neck. “I don’t think so, no. All sorts of people come here. Some look rather odd, but we don’t mind them unless they don’t pay or cause trouble.”
Teruo nodded, thanking him. “Give your name and phone number to that uniformed officer there. We’ll contact you for the official statement and any other details.”
The teenager bowed and headed in the direction Teruo pointed. The first officer returned, bringing the manager along with her. According to him, some customers used the back exit of the restaurant because it was easier to reach the bus station rather than go around all the buildings, so the door was unlocked until closing time.
Teruo circled around for a better view. The two garbage containers were large enough that someone could easily hide behind them and no one would notice. The victim started work at an hour when the majority of people would already be at work and not at a neighborhood ramen restaurant.
He stepped out into the street. All buildings were linked together, and more dumpsters lined the quiet street, both on Teruo’s side and across the road. Had the criminal been stalking the victim? Knew when and how to strike? It was well-thought out as no one would’ve seen unless they happened to take the same road and the same time as the victim. But if that risk existed, the criminal wouldn’t have killed her here in plain daylight.
Miyazaki finally returned from inside the restaurant.
“Did you take a dinner break?” Teruo grunted.
“No, sir,” Miyazaki replied, giving him a serene smile. “I was talking with some of the employees, gathering information.” He patted his suit jacket’s pocket where he kept his notepad.
Of course he did and it made perfect sense. Teruo had forgotten what it was like to have a partner who took initiative instead of hovering uselessly in his shadow.
“Let’s see the victim,” Teruo said.
Lights had been placed around the woman and the forensics were carefully searching the ground, dusting for prints and swabbing for DNA. Teruo stopped by the wall, hands in his pockets, Miyazaki next to him.
The victim wore a plain gray uniform—skirt and vest—along with a white shirt underneath and a pale blue coat over them. Her black hair was tied in a disheveled bun and bangs covered her forehead. Blood coated her throat, the pavement under her, and splashed on her clothes. There seemed to be no sign of struggle. She might’ve been sedated too.
Teruo pointed to the victim’s purse and a white bag with the restaurant’s logo, lying at the woman’s feet. “Did you search them?” he asked one of the forensics.
“We did,” the man replied. “No wallet, no phone, but we’ve found the receipt of her last purchase.” He passed it to Teruo.
“Died two hours ago,” Teruo said, “right after she got her order.” He turned to Miyazaki. “Since she’s a regular here, we can get her name from the restaurant. We’ll need a warrant for her credit card details.”
“No need,” Miyazaki said. “The manager instructed his employees to offer all the necessary info. I think they want to get rid of us fast.” He plucked a piece of paper from his inner pocket and handed it to Teruo. “Name and credit card details. Obtained it earlier before I returned here.”
Teruo nodded, satisfied. “Good.”
Ozawa Fumiko was the victim’s name. If they found a link between their jogger and her, it could narrow down their pool of suspects.
Just like in the jogger’s case, the three circles of the wire were at an almost equal distance from one another and cut deep into the skin. It was difficult to figure out exactly how it had been wrapped so tight around the neck. Then there was the final knot in front with the unmarked pet tag attached to it.
“Why all the trouble with the wires?” Teruo pondered out loud. “Why not just cut the throat and place an actual dog collar on it? Wouldn’t that have made the same point?”
“I thought so too, sir,” Miyazaki said. “It would’ve also been a lot easier to pull off rather than all—” He waved his hand in a circle. “—this mess.”
“Do you have any theories?” Teruo probed.
“I do, sir.”
Teruo perked up at that. “Care to share?”
Miyazaki considered for a bit, then spoke, “I think this collar represents some symbol which ties the criminal, Ozawa Fumiko and the jogger together. Some weird way to say ‘you treat me like an animal’. Perhaps the two victims betrayed our criminal and this is the revenge.”
“Yeah, I thought about a love affair as well. Infidelity awakens strong feelings of hatred. Powerful enough for the criminal to desire to make a point through the method of killing.”