Chapter Text
That evening, the rain fell hard, almost torrentially. It made a deafening noise as it thudded against the roof of the car. The streetlights trembled under the force of the wind as it lashed at everything and everyone, making the city streets appear ghostly, like flooded asphalt rivers. The scene was evocative of a novel's opening, one that began with the classic line, "It was a dark and stormy night," capturing the atmosphere outside the safety and warmth of a building.
It was what Maomao pondered as she gazed out the car window, perched beside Luomen, endeavoring to not freeze herself to death, the leather seats gradually diminishing the scant warmth her coat retained. The lights reflected off the glass as the car drove slowly along. The sound of raindrops falling on the roof was loud, yes, but also oddly soothing; it almost lulled her to sleep. Considering that it was well past 4 a.m., it wasn't difficult or strange to imagine.
The city was semi-deserted. Few cars roamed the roads, and even fewer people were out in that dreadful weather. When they stopped at a red light under a bridge, Maomao saw a couple smoking not far from her. It seemed like an innocent scene per se, if not for the fact that the woman's clothes were inappropriate for the season and temperature. When Maomao saw the man hit the prostitute, she looked away, grimacing and averting her gaze to her hands in her lap. A few moments later, the car started up again.
"How much longer?" she asked Luomen, turning toward him. She saw him scrolling through messages on his phone, his eyebrows furrowed and his expression serious. It was early in the morning, yet he was incredibly alert and awake, and she envied him a little. It took her more than ten minutes to become lucid enough to realize that her phone was ringing; the police station's number intermittently lighting up the screen.
"We're almost there," he replied calmly, not looking at her.
She nodded and sighed. For a moment, she considered looking outside again, but then decided she wasn't in the mood anymore. She took her lip balm out of her coat pocket, applied it, and then began to fiddle with it. It was a gift from Luomen, and she enjoyed taking the cat-eared cap on and off. For a coroner, he certainly had a lively sense of humor.
When they finally arrived at their destination, several police cars were already blocking the entrance, their flashing lights bouncing off the raindrops on the window. Come to think of it, there were a lot of cars. Too many for what looked, at least from the few reports she had received before leaving her warm home, like a simple accidental murder.
As soon as the car stopped, Maomao was the first to get out; her small umbrella could barely keep her dry. She walked around the vehicle, opened the door, and extended her hand toward Luomen to help him out.
"Thank you." He said with a warm smile.
He struggled out of the passenger compartment, bending his prosthetic leg with one hand to get both feet firmly on the ground. Then, grasping the hand she held out to him while holding the medical examiner's case with the other, he stood up. They walked slowly, with Maomao keeping a hand under Luomen's forearm to help him avoid slipping on the wet asphalt.
As soon as they reached the two policemen patrolling the entrance, they stopped them, one hand outstretched in front and the other resting on their gun belt.
"ID, please," said one of them. His cap and raincoat were soaked through, and Maomao noticed the way the raindrops slid over his visor, creating a waterfall effect on the sides of his face.
Luomen unbuttoned his coat and pulled out the badge hanging around his neck. Maomao did the same, pulling her ID out of her pocket. With a slight bow to the respected coroner and a somewhat curious, albeit slightly shady, look at Maomao, the two officers gestured for them to enter.
Despite having always resided in Kurohama, she had never felt the slightest interest in visiting its namesake War Museum. The present is always a result of past events, just as modern mistakes are a consequence of our ancestors' beliefs and mentality. Nonetheless, she had never managed to identify a compelling justification to visit a site exclusively devoted to a nation's military endeavors and the devastation and fatalities it had contributed to on a vast scale.
Ironically, the hallways were spooky, lit only by the dim glow of emergency lights. Although it was an enclosed space that should have been warmer than outside, a dampness permeated it, seeping into Maomao's bones. She clutched her long coat tighter, sinking her chin and lips into her long woolen scarf.
When they arrived at the pavilion devoted to the wars of the last century, a squad of policemen was waiting for them. Some were busy collecting and cataloging evidence while many others were covering their noses and mouths while they were working.
No matter how hard you try, you never really get used to the smell of a dead body. This time, Maomao had to admit, the smell was more pungent than expected. She wrinkled her nose and squinted, turning to Luomen, but the doctor only showed pure, sincere medical interest in the crime scene. Maomao wondered when she would be able to react with such indifference to the deathly stench that was so persistent she could almost feel it sticking to her clothes, even when she went home.
The corpse leaned against one of the museum's stained glass windows. Ironically, the display contained weapons that were probably used in the Vietnam War, judging by the pavilion where he had died: 20th century. It was difficult to determine his age because he was on his knees with his face on the floor, still completely dressed, pristine, if not for a splotch of brown staining his pants. Luomen released Maomao's arm and asked a policeman for shoe covers. He pulled the small close-up glasses and a pair of latex gloves, carefully sealed in a sterile package, out of his pocket. She looked at him and then did the same. First, however, she removed her scarf and long black coat, which was in danger of touching the floor if she reached down to examine the corpse, contaminating the scene.
Luomen motioned for one of the policemen to come closer. "Who is the victim?" he asked, slowly lowering himself to the ground.
The policeman cleared his throat. "Hiroshi Takayama, 66 years old, the museum's director. He set off the alarm, but when private security arrived, they found him lying on the display case."
“Are there any other relevant details I should know before examining him?”
"Only that an envelope containing crystal methamphetamine was found next to the body."
Luomen gestured his acknowledgment to him, then pivoted toward Maomao. "Let's get to work, shall we?"
She nodded and moved to face the doctor on the other side of the corpse. The smell had changed from merely pungent to acrid and almost nauseating; a mixture of vomit, dead flesh, and septic sewage. She suppressed a disgusted grimace and began to analyze the scene.
The body was still warm, suggesting that death occurred no more than two hours earlier. Luomen tried to lift his chin with a finger. Maomao noticed a small trickle of blood, saliva, and an unknown substance staining his skin and lips.
"Overdose?" she asked, checking the rigor mortis on his hands.
"Very likely." Luomen shifted his attention to the position. "I would say it was sudden, judging by the bizarre position in which he was found."
“Couldn’t it be a badly cut batch?”
"Maybe." Luomen scratched some material from under his nostrils. "It's not cocaine, though."
"Are you thinking of methamphetamine?"
"It's hard to say, but it's likely. The obvious burst capillaries in his eyes seem to suggest this hypothesis."
When Luomen illuminated the director's face with his UV flashlight, Maomao blinked. Twice. There was a strange, dark yellow powder shining around the mouth. While it wasn't unusual to find strange organic residues on victims' bodies, the color was not the typical milky white Maomao would have expected.
"What is this?" she asked.
Luomen hummed but didn’t respond, frowning.
Maomao reflected that it was strange the director would be here at this hour. In fact, there were more than a few things out of place about the whole situation. That UV reaction was sticking out too much, too. If it were a simple meth overdose, there would be no reason for her and Luomen to be called in the middle of the night. Even if it had been cocaine or heroin, the police would have simply taken the body to the autopsy room, where they could have calmly ascertained the cause of death at a more reasonable hour.
She glanced around, taking in the numerous police officers present. There were far too many to justify the apparently accidental death of the director of a sparsely attended museum with few valuables. She then looked at the policeman, who was standing a little bit away from the dead body in front of her.
"Are there, by any chance, any cameras that captured what happened?"
The policeman looked at her sideways. "It's none of your business. Do your job."
Maomao looked at him, annoyed. It was frustrating enough to be woken up at that hour of the night in a torrential rain. Being looked down upon for asking a simple question about the corpse was much more irritating. She hated being ignored just because she wasn't the coroner. Screw him.
"Is this the way to address a colleague?"
The firm, authoritative voice came from behind her. She turned and saw a man approaching in the dim hallway; the sound of his shoes echoed in the air. As she got a better look at his face, Maomao realized that she didn't recognize him. She then turned back to the policeman.
"I just want to know if there are cameras inside. Nothing more." She replied dryly.
The policeman huffed and cast a glance at the man who had just appeared. “Yes, but they were off. The victim activated the alarm via computer. Is there anything else you want to know?" He asked sarcastically.
"Only when I can leave so I can take a shower and get this stench off me," she replied in the same tone.
The policeman's eyes narrowed. "You will leave when your work is done.”
"Officer Basen, go to the entrance and interrogate the private security guard." The stranger commanded.
"Yes, sir." The other replied deferentially. He saluted and left.
Maomao looked at the man behind her. He was very tall and wore a beautiful cashmere-looking coat, an elegant black suit with a loose black tie, a white shirt, and a white scarf. Both of his hands were in his coat pockets. His long hair was tied in a disheveled bun at the nape of his neck. He was, objectively, one of the most handsome men Maomao had ever seen. His face was delicate, though his jaw was defined, and his eyes were dark and elongated, while his lips were full and pulled into an indecipherable expression. When their gazes met, she looked away, redirecting her attention to the victim's body.
"Dr. Yamaji-sama, what can you tell me about the corpse?"
Maomao always found it strange to hear Luomen being called by his last name.
"Judging by the rigor mortis, Director Takayama died about an hour or an hour and a half ago. At first glance, it appears that he died of an overdose."
"I see." The stranger seemed to ponder his words; Maomao could hear him grumbling behind her. "Are there any traces on the body that would make you think it was a specific drug?"
"I would say methamphetamine; the symptoms seem to match." Luomen examined his jacket, which bore traces of dried vomit. He handed the UV flashlight to Maomao. "To be sure of the exact type of drug, I need to run some lab tests."
“How long will that take?”
"A couple of hours from the time the body is on my autopsy table."
"Perfect. I'll talk to the captain, and you'll have it in a couple of hours at the latest, after the officers finish inspecting the body."
"Captain Gaoshun-sama? I thought he was applying for early retirement." Luomen smiled, his glasses slipping up his nose as his cheeks rose.
"Not yet. They won't let him go." A cheerful laugh echoed from the stranger.
While the two were talking, Maomao continued examining the man's corpse. There was something strange that she couldn't understand: a small detail that seemed out of place.
“It's not an overdose. It's impossible for it to be,” she said.
"What makes you think so?" the man asked.
She heard a rustling of cloth and realized that the stranger had crouched down beside her. When she turned around, she found herself face-to-face with him, his piercing black eyes watching her. Up close, he was much more attractive than she initially thought; she had to give him credit for that. He smiled at her kindly, though perhaps too flirty for her taste; his lips were too prissy for a smirk. Maomao looked back at him with the same interest with which she would watch paint dry on a wall.
"Fingers." She said, pointing the UV flashlight in that direction. "There is no trace of the same substance we found on the lips."
The man looked in the direction she pointed, moving closer to her imperceptibly so he could get a better look at the corpse's stiff, bent hands.
"There is a trace of a red on the lips which, when illuminated, takes on a yellow-orange hue. However, it is completely absent from the hands."
"He may have swallowed the drug quickly, without handling it much."
"This is unlikely. The substance seems to be powdered, not tableted, and there's too much residue around his lips."
"Maybe he washed his hands."
"That's a stupid theory. No one thorough enough to wash their hands would leave their mouth dirty."
Maomao bit her lip; it had happened again. She could never shut up when she was thinking, especially when someone made a stupid comment about something so blatantly obvious. But this wasn't the university, and that wasn't just a police officer. He was her direct superior, and she had basically just called him a moron.
To her surprise, the man didn't seem surprised at all, just extremely amused. He looked at Luomen, who shook his head and smiled.
"Excuse me, sir." Maomao said with a nod.
"You told me she was smart." The man replied, resting his elbows on his knees. "I didn't think she was so shrewd, either, Luomen."
"It was you who insisted that I hire her, Detective Hanabusa." The doctor replied, slowly removing his gloves.
Upon hearing that name, Maomao's blood froze in her veins. When she turned to the stranger, she saw an amused grin painted on his face. His eyes were half-closed, and his lips were pouted.
Not only was he one of the detectives in the department, he was also in charge of the whole investigative unit. And he was also the idiot she had to thank for being hired as the coroner assistant. Maomao would have preferred to work with the drug squad, a department to which she had officially applied. She was annoyed when she learned that someone higher up had pressured her to work with her old professor, Luomen. The mounting pressure had seemingly rendered her a pariah among a host of senior colleagues who would have coveted the position she had been bestowed. Only later did she discover Hanabusa's involvement. The same Hanabusa was now watching her like a dog watches dinner.
"I'm glad to finally make your acquaintance." He said this while extending his hand to her. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I've only heard great things about you so far."
Had she not risked going to jail for the rest of her life, Maomao would have gladly throttled him. She looked at his hand, then dropped her gaze to her own, blood- and vomit-stained hands, still covered by her gloves.
"The pleasure is mine," she replied with a disgusted grin and not-too-thinly-veiled sarcasm. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to finish my work.”
"There is something I would like to show you first." The detective stood up. "Please, this way." He said this to both of them, pointing to the hallway from which he had come.
Luomen struggled to his feet. "I still have some things to go over here. Take Maomao with you."
"Maomao, what a pretty name." He replied, raising an eyebrow.
"Should I be flattered?" She asked.
"I don't know. Are you?"
“Forget it.” She gave him a dismissive nod. “Luomen, are you sure I shouldn’t stay here and help you out instead?”
“You heard the detective.”
She had heard him very well, but she was looking for a way to avoid being alone with him. She waited a moment, hoping Luomen would help her. But when she saw the coroner open plastic bags to collect samples, she realized he wouldn't. Great. Maomao inhaled deeply, trying to remain calm and impassive. This was definitely not her dream job, but that didn't mean she wanted to be arrested for obstruction of justice or for offending a public official.
"Lead the way, detective."
He turned to the side, inviting her forward with one hand outstretched. "No need to be so formal. You can call me Jinshi."