All the spirits in his jurisdiction would be his to send to the afterlife through the gate linking this world to the world of spirits. Having a clearly defined area of spectral management was one of the conditions in his contract. The only time he was allowed to break his jurisdiction was for murder victims that were a part of his cases.
He checked the address again. It was in Higashikurume, a city of Tokyo Metropolis, and Shinji wondered how the headquarters here compared to the ones in Hiroshima. They were probably larger. And with all sorts of supernaturals. He was excited to visit.
Checking himself out in the mirror one last time, Shinji huffed at his stubborn hair, but decided he looked presentable enough. He locked his apartment—now warmer since Yamato’s ghost left—and headed out to where the chief awaited.
Hayashi was in the parking lot, resting against the car’s door, hands in his dark grey slacks’ pockets, with a cigarette hanging between his lips and his coat’s collar lifted up. He had skipped wearing a tie and suit jacket, settling for a white shirt, with one button opened. White looked delightful on Hayashi, bringing out his tanned skin.
Shinji shamelessly admired his well-built frame; the swell of his pectorals, visible through the shirt, his trimmed waist, then he set his gaze on Hayashi’s pelvis and the bulge covered by the slacks. If Hayashi looked this good clothed, he was probably amazing naked. Shinji blushed a bit at his own thoughts, but let his imagination run wild. It wasn’t like anyone could see what he was thinking about.
“Miyazaki… am I your chauffeur?” Hayashi grumbled when Shinji reached him.
“I don’t have a car, sir, and taxis are expensive.” Shinji grinned and stretched his palm as Hayashi offered him an incredulous look then placed the car keys in his hand. “And I’ve got great news,” Shinji added. “One of Ozawa’s friends answered and we’re due to meet her at half past eleven.”
Hayashi’s face brightened up. “Perfect. You did a good job contacting them.”
Shinji smiled at the compliment. “Thank you, sir.” He climbed into the driver seat and put the car into gear.
Hayashi took off his coat and left it on the back seat then joined Shinji and looked him up and down. “Do you never wear a coat? Aren’t you cold?”
Shinji shrugged. “I’m used to the cold.”
“How can you possibly be used to the cold? You’re from Hiroshima, not Sapporo.”
Only now Shinji realized it must’ve sounded strange to tell someone he was used to freezing temperatures when there was no reason for him to be. “Uh… it simply doesn’t bother me. I like autumn. And I love winter.” Probably because he’d been born in winter—was what people always told him. He’d never associated his love of winter with his birthday since he didn’t celebrate it. It was the only day in the year he disliked.
“If you say so,” Hayashi said, leaning back in his seat.
Shinji noticed the chief didn’t light another cigarette after the one he finished. He sat relaxed, an elbow on the center console, the other on the car’s door panel. It seemed the meeting with Ozawa’s friend had put him in a good mood and Shinji smiled to himself, satisfied.
Before heading to TMPD’s headquarters, Shinji made a brief stop at a store and bought some aluminum wire, a foam pad and glue, which he intended to use to test out the killer’s technique. Hayashi eyed the bag with suspicion, but didn’t say anything. Wanting to keep up Hayashi’s good mood, Shinji grabbed two large coffees, offering one to Hayashi.
“Thank you,” he said, surprised. “Enticing me with coffee, hm?”
“Thought I’d treat you to something nice since you took me on a date yesterday, sir,” Shinji teased about theirkissatenlunch. He suddenly felt mischievous and winked.
Hayashi stared at him for a moment and Shinji thought he pushed too far and was going to get scolded for his joke. But instead, Hayashi’s lips curled into a little smirk at one corner, and damn if that didn’t sent a dull throb down Shinji’s abdomen. Another man might’ve reacted badly to Shinji’s flirting, but Hayashi not only didn’t recoil, he seemed to like it. Or maybe the crush he was developing on his superior officer was clouding his mind and he was seeing signs where there weren’t any.
Taking a sip of coffee, Hayashi nodded in approval and Shinji couldn’t help but grin as he led the car to HQ. More reports awaited them at the front desk, most regarding the evidence from Ozawa’s crime scene. Or rather, lack of substantial evidence. There were no footprints matching those from Yoyogi Park and no traces of DNA. The autopsy report wasn’t among the files, which sent Hayashi into a fit of grumbles and complaints that he wanted results and he wanted them now.
No missing persons reports had been filed about Yamato yet, which made Shinji wonder whether he had no immediate family members. Perhaps no parents or siblings who’d note his absence. Or perhaps Yamato simply didn’t keep in touch with them often enough for his family to realize he’d died.
So now Shinji was on the phone with the forensic medical center where Suzuki did the autopsies. He’d been put on hold and suspected it was due to the staff’s annoyance with Hayashi’s constant nagging to finish up something that took weeks in a few days’ time.
Balancing the landline’s receiver on his shoulder, Shinji took off his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He cut the foam pad he’d bought into a smaller piece, and glued it into the shape of a cylinder to resemble a neck. It wasn’t the same thing but it would do. He fumbled with the wire, trying various ways to wrap it around the foam—and failing—all the while listening to the waiting music in the receiver and occasionally scanning the notes on the whiteboard.
Absorbed in the tasks, he didn’t notice Hayashi approaching until the chief stood behind him, engulfing Shinji in the amber smell of his cologne.
“You’re doing too many things at once,” Hayashi said. “Give me the phone.”
“I’m good, sir.” He gave the wire a twist, regretting he hadn’t bought gloves too. The wire threatened to cut into his skin when he applied pressure.
“What’s with that thing, anyway?”
“I want to see how the killer did it, how long it took and how much force was needed to wrap it in order to break skin. It won’t help us find the murderer, but I thought it would be a useful experiment. I chose the wrong materials, though. This foam isn’t working how I intended.”
Hayashi hummed, remaining in his spot, and Shinji found his presence distracting. The heat radiating from Hayashi’s body sent Shinji’s thoughts into a new spiral of dirty scenarios. He imagined Hayashi pushing him forward onto the desk, pressing his hard length against Shinji’s ass and…
Shaking that image away before he got an erection at work, Shinji gave the wire another forceful twist. It snapped free of his grasp, whipping his other hand, the sharp tip scratching the back of his palm and wrist. Shinji hissed and staggered back, the phone falling from his shoulder and hitting the desk with a loud thud.