The next batch of interviews was with those who didn’t attend and Teruo instructed the officers to focus on the ‘morbidly creative’ pranks. If any of these people had witnessed such a prank, they could narrow down the list of former students who’d suffered from it and who could potentially be the killer.
“I want you to keep me updated at all times,” Teruo said. “If something happ—” he stopped when the landline started ringing and picked it up. “Hayashi speaking. What?” he exclaimed.
Shinji along with the officers gawked at him. Teruo’s fist clenched on the receiver and he jotted the address the dispatcher gave him.
He hung up, turning to the officers. “Change of plan. You won’t just interview them, you’ll protect them. Contact as many of the former students as you can and assign a team of two officers to each one of them.”
“Another victim?” Shinji asked, standing up, his brows furrowed.
Teruo nodded, then continued, “Make sure the vultures won’t give you trouble. We’ve got a fourth murder on our hands and no killer in sight. Shit’s gonna hit the fan and we’ll be all over the fucking news. Go!”
“Yes, sir!” The officers bowed and left.
Teruo grabbed his overcoat. “Let’s go.” He craved a cigarette, but decided to wait until he reached the car.
“Vultures?” Shinji asked as they walked back to the elevator.
“Reporters.”
“That’s what you call them?” Shinji chuckled. “Not nice, but I get it.” As they got to the parking lot and climbed inside the car, Shinji spoke again, “When we get there, I’ll need some time to check out the rooms.”
“Of course we’re going to—”
“Not for evidence, Teruo,” Shinji said, bringing the car out onto the road.
“Oh. Theotherthing. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure no one bothers you.”
“Are we calling it ‘the other thing’ now?”
Rolling down the window, Teruo took his time lighting the cigarette before answering, “Well, I don’t know what else to call it.” He sunk in his seat, slightly annoyed by his own petulance.
Shinji smiled. “That’s all right. Let’s stick with ‘the other thing’ until we find a suitable name.”
“Appreciate it.” Teruo expelled a large cloud of smoke.
The fourth victim—Miura Eisuke—lived in Sumida, a city of the Metropolis, in a small one-story house, with plain white walls and a dark gray gable roof. It was surrounded by a low fence, easy to climb over. The neighborhood was rich in trees and bushes, perfect for hiding. According to the officers on duty at the gate, the house had no surveillance cameras.
“It’s still possible the neighbors have cameras,” Shinji said. “We should check with them just in case.”
“Indeed.” Teruo turned to one of the officers. “Go knock at a few doors. Maybe we’ll get lucky.” Then he walked inside the house, Shinji at his side, his gaze sweeping every corner.
There was something in the way Shinji carried himself that worried Teruo; his face in a grimace and his back slightly hunched as if there was an invisible weight on his shoulders. Teruo remembered the last time Shinji had looked like that: at the forensic medical center where a ghost—or whatever it was—had attacked him. They hadn’t had time to properly speak about it, but he didn’t need to ask any more questions to figure out that Shinji was sensing the strange wind… no, thereiryoku, right at this moment.
“I’ll start with the living room,” Shinji whispered. “You check the body.”
He nodded as Shinji quietly slipped away, entering the living room to their left and closing the door behind him. This must’ve been the usual routine for Shinji, something he’d probably done often in Hiroshima. Teruo tried not to think about the possibility of ghosts haunting this house and went to the bedroom where the victim lay on the floor at the foot of the bed.
“Piece of shit,” Teruo cursed, making the officers nearby jolt.
The MO had changed again.
Miura Eisuke was on his side, not face up like the other victims. A clear gash at the back of his skull indicated a possible fight. The others hadn’t been hit. Had the victim seen the killer? Had he struggled to escape? Miura was among the former classmates they hadn’t managed to interview yet. They had lost their chance of finding out anything from this man.
Teruo circled him, crouching next to an officer who was still taking pictures, and looked at the victim’s neck. The wire was no longer precisely wrapped; it was messy and askew, not even as bloody as the other ones. Judging by the size of the laceration on the skull and the enormous pool of blood, it was very likely the head wound killed Miura and not the wire this time.
The murderer had become desperate enough to give up on the ‘morbidly creative’ side of the killings and settle for something that would do the job faster.
“Have you found the object responsible for that?” Teruo pointed to the gash wound.