Chapter 56

Tamako's hackles rose; her pupils dilated a fraction. It felt like discovering a hangnail—ignore it and nothing happens, then one day someone yanks it backward and the sharp sting wakes every fear sleeping inside you.

"W-where?" she stammered. "That person—who else did he kill?"

"The snow-mountain homicide—you filed the report, didn't you?"

Seeing Tamako's blank look, Takusai explained, "Forensics scrubbed the rust off the bullet and found two characters engraved on it: 'Heaven's Punishment.' When Natsume Shiro died, Fushimi was still attending university in Nagoya. I checked—no absences, and the holidays were spent holed up with an ex-girlfriend in a rented room."

Tamako's head snapped around. "Ex-girlfriend? You actually dated?" Then, louder, "Wait—does that mean Mr. Natsume didn't commit suicide? This is weird, so weird—"

Her mental CPU threatened to overheat.

"What's so surprising?" Shika said. "We're all twenty-something adults; of course I've dated." In truth, that relationship had belonged to the original owner of this body; by the time Shika transmigrated, the breakup was already ancient history.

The remark pricked Tamako right where it hurt. Her cheeks flamed; she pressed her lips together. So what if I'm twenty and never dated? People line up from Tokyo to Paris to ask me out—I just don't want to! If I felt like it, I could snap my fingers and—hmph!

"You really haven't dated, have you?" Shika spotted the fatal weakness.

"Not your business!" she snapped, then hurried on. "Dating isn't the point—the bullet is! Natsume Shiro was murdered; how could they close the file as suicide?"

Both Shika and Takusai knew the answer: because they couldn't investigate further.

The corpse had long since turned to bones, and the victim's social circle was impossible to trace—an Alzheimer's patient wandering town, anyone could have crossed his path. A cold case with nowhere to turn.

If they linked it to the police-academy shooting, the stakes would change. The prosecutor's office would never approve reopening a case that risked becoming a serial homicide; a special task force would be demanded, and who would take the fall if nothing came of it?

No solid proof of suicide, but equally no proof of murder. Round it off, call it suicide. The engraving on the bullet? Coincidence, move along.

On TV, grizzled detectives spend nights sifting yellowed files, stumble across a decade-old clue, and nail the killer in the final reel. In real life, that only works when politics align.

Tamako would never accept such an answer. Given half a chance, she'd take leave and march back to the local station demanding the case be reopened.

Takusai had no intention of losing his new recruit to futile crusades. He sighed and chose his words carefully.

"The investigators had their reasons. Suicide is the most reasonable conclusion. Who'd bother murdering a dying Alzheimer's patient? No money, no grudge... Anyway, just understand that's how it is."

Tamako frowned; the logic sounded familiar, but before she could place it, Shika chimed in, "Exactly. Are you planning to contradict your seniors on your very first day?"

Tamako snapped to attention. "I would never! I respect my seniors!"

Shika filed the reaction away for future reference—useful leverage when he needed Takusai to rein Tamako in.

"All right, orientation's over," Takusai said, rubbing his temples—he'd clearly been woken from sleep. "Work schedule's on the wall. Don't be late tonight. If you're lost, call the station chief from the landline. I'm going back to bed."

Without waiting for an answer, he pulled a cot from under the desk, slipped on an eye-mask, tucked a blanket around himself, murmured "Good night," and was instantly snoring.

Tamako still brooded over Natsume Shiro's unavenged death. To her, the Heaven's Punishment killer had just become the Reasoning Squad's nemesis.

While hauling her suitcase upstairs, she asked Shika whether they should give the serial murderer a codename.

"Didn't we decide it was suicide? Maybe someone was just bored and carved letters for fun," Shika said irritably.

When he'd engraved the characters, he'd only worried that altering the serial number on the service pistol might frame some poor sap; adding "Heaven's Punishment" had been an afterthought.

"Only you would do something that pointless," Tamako muttered. "Besides, Sherlock Holmes said, 'There is no such thing as a coincidence.' Dig deeper and we might find a lead."

"I don't speak English," Shika replied.

He compared the two empty dorm rooms on the second floor and chose the one with better light. "I'll take this one. No objections?" Without waiting, he shut the door. "Great, thanks. Night."

Tamako stared at the closed door, cheeks puffed in indignation. She knocked; Shika's voice drifted out, "Watch your attitude."

Outrageous!

Ignore me, will you? A member of the Reasoning Squad, yet you shrug at "Heaven's Punishment"? If you keep slacking, when will justice be served?

Tamako stood in the corridor, hugging the Rabbit Officer plushie, taking deep breaths.

Patience, Tamako, patience! If you push Fushimi back into petty-villain mode, all your progress will be wasted.

Fine—if Shika won't investigate, I'll do it alone!

She had already decided: tonight she'd write to the local station requesting the case be reopened. If that failed, she'd ask for the case file by fax. Maybe she could wring clues from the paperwork.

Resolved, she dragged her suitcase inside. Eight square metres, but it had everything—desk, bed, tiny bath. In land-starved Tokyo, a dorm attached to a koban was a miracle; she wasn't about to complain.

She made the bed, tidied up, then wriggled into her brand-new uniform: silver badge, holster, baton at her belt. Swaggering into the bathroom, she struck a pose in the mirror.

"Freeze!" She whipped out her pistol, aiming at her reflection. "Crack shot Officer Tamako, protector of Sugamo—"

Bang!

The gun went off.