He ran a hand through his hair, then fished out his phone and passed it to Miyazaki, who stared at it, confused.
“No one knows you that well yet. Use mine to make a few phone calls. First, get a back-up team here. We’ll need to go through the trash and see if the murderer threw anything inside. I doubt it since there was nothing of value at the other scene, but we have to search. Second, call the medical centre and tell them to make ID-ing the jogger a priority. That way, when Suzuki goes back, she’ll be able to take care of both victims.”
“Usually—” Miyazaki started.
“It takes a while, yes,” Teruo cut in. “I don’t care. Tell them to clear Suzuki’s schedule, so she can finish both autopsies by Friday. If they complain, say I’ll pay them a visit. They hate me enough not to want to see my face,” Teruo explained after Miyazaki arched a brow at him.
“Makes sense.” Miyazaki shrugged, unimpressed.
Teruo’s mouth fell open and he prepared to retort, but bit back his words. “Lastly, tell the owner to close the restaurant until further notice.”
“Yes, sir.” He walked away, phone in hand, searching Teruo’s contacts list.
The police-related contacts were written clearly enough that Miyazaki shouldn’t have had any issues finding them. He had a sharp mind and handled himself well around a crime scene. Teruo had been too fast to judge the man.
Miyazaki went inside the restaurant and Teruo’s gaze followed him through the open doors. He stopped at the restaurant’s main entrance and a breeze swept through his suit jacket and hair. Teruo took a few steps, staring in confusion, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him again or if he truly was seeing wind gleaming white and swirling around Miyazaki. It was the strangest thing Teruo had ever seen, and he’d seen some weird stuff as a homicide detective.
Then Miyazaki—while on the phone—suddenly left the restaurant’s premises, the white wind trailing behind him like a comet’s tail.
Where the hell is he going?
CHAPTER 6
Shinji
Shinji slipped away from the crime scene and ducked into an alley, the chief’s phone at his ear. He knew he’d probably get scolded when he returned, but had no choice.
Ozawa’s ghost was missing from her recent place of death and if she’d drifted off into the neighborhood, he still had a chance to find her. Of course, it was possible she’d already abandoned this location and went to haunt her house. Once they had her home address, Hayashi would want to go there and Shinji could check for her spirit. If she wasn’t there either, then she likely crossed to the other side on her own. Strange for the victim of a murder to do so, but not unheard of.
The streets were buzzing with people, some talking about the murder. Colorful neon signs and paper lanterns from restaurants illuminated the surrounding ghosts with an array of colors. Shinji studied each of them, but none were Ozawa.
He glanced ahead through the crowd. There was no intersection nearby and he couldn’t go too far, otherwise he risked pissing off Hayashi. He kept on walking just a bit more as the dispatcher answered the phone and Shinji requested back-up.
The forensic medical centre was next on the list and Shinji scrolled through the chief contacts, then called.
“What do you want, Hayashi?” a man growled at the other end of the line.
Rude, Shinji thought,but not entirely unexpected.
“Good evening,” he greeted. “I’m Miyazaki Shinji, the new Police Sergeant assigned to Chief Inspector Hayashi Teruo.”
“Oh, you poor thing,” the man said in a mournful tone. “You have my sympathies.”
Shinji muffled a snort, then continued, “The chief wants you to prioritize ID-ing the victim from Yoyogi—”
“Ah, yes,” the man interrupted, “everything is a priority for Hayashi, isn’t it? You know what should be a priority? Him learning we’re not his lapdogs. Someone needs to drill that into his thick skull.”
“My apologies,” Shinji said, trying to be amiable. “Right now, we have a second victim on our hands—identical MO—and the chief would like an ID on the jogger by Friday.”
“Sure, and I want a Ferrari by Friday,” the man mocked, “but we can’t all get what we want, can we?”
“He said he’ll pay you a visit if you don’t.” Shinji felt bad about it, but he said it anyway.
The man gave a long, exaggerated groan. “Tell him we’ll do our best, though I know that won’t be good enough for Hayashi.”
“I appreciate it.” Shinji bid him goodbye and hung up.
Rubbing his forehead, he inhaled the night’s damp air, smelling the fresh rain mixed with all sorts of delicious aromas from the nearby restaurants and stands. His stomach grumbled, and Shinji wondered if the chief—who was probably fuming by now—would forgive his little escapade if he brought back a snack. They were going to be here a while and neither had a chance to eat dinner yet. Well, there was only one way to find out.