The Detective is Already Dead

Chapter 3: Chapter 1.2

This is not a date, of course...

"Sorry to keep you waiting."

It was the weekend, and I'd been standing in the shadow of a pillar on the station-front plaza, checking my watch, when something thumped me lightly on the shoulder.

When I turned around, there was Natsunagi, dressed in street clothes and swinging a small handbag around.

Her off-the-shoulder blouse generously exposed her white collarbones, and her denim shorts highlighted her long, slim legs. It was as if she'd dressed for the "summer" that was part of her name.

"Can you stop eyeing up a female classmate who isn't even your girlfriend?"

"Not sure I want to hear that from someone who shoved her boobs against a classmate who wasn't even her boyfriend."

"You liked it, though." "..."

Damn. She got me there.

"Never mind that. Natsunagi, you're ten minutes late. Be punctual." Since I couldn't deny her accusation, I changed the subject.

"Girls need their time to get ready, no matter what they're doing."

Natsunagi pouted, and there was vivid lipstick on those lips.

I see; that's true. She looked about 30 percent more grown-up than she did the day before.

"That so? Sorry."

"You're awfully cooperative now."

"Well, I appreciate having a pretty girl next to me, too."

"...Hmph. I don't mind hearing that," Natsunagi murmured, looking up through her lashes at me from about ten centimeters below.

"...What?" "Nothing..." "Come on, what?!" "Nothiiing."

No, seriously, what the heck?

I looked down at Natsunagi, whose position made her boobs impossible to miss.

"...Staring much?" Natsunagi glared at me coldly, hugging herself. The tables had turned.

"No, not your boobs. I was just, you know, observing your collarbones." "Ew! At least check out my boobs like a normal person!"

"You've got a fine pair for somebody your age."

"What does age have to do with collarbones?! Why are you talking like some collarbone critic?! ...What even is a collarbone critic anyway?!"

"...Hmm. Have we had a conversation like this before?" I asked.

"I sure hope not; once is way more than enough for me." Harried, Natsunagi pressed a hand against her forehead. "...Hey, when did I get cast as the character who makes all the comebacks?"

"It's good to switch up the roles every once in a while." Well, to be honest, it's not like I really wanted that position, either. "Okay, we should head out." I smacked Natsunagi on the shoulder and set off, taking the lead.

"Where are you going? Listen, they'll arrest you unless you put some clothes on."

"Hey, if you want to steal the funny role back, you need more buildup."

...Still, this is weird.

Oddly, when Natsunagi joked around, it struck a chord in me.

After we'd walked for about ten minutes, our destination came into view. "Um, Kimizuka? I'm pretty sure I've got the wrong idea, but is that where

we're going?"

"We're looking for someone. So this isn't all that weird."

Even so, Natsunagi frowned, seeming unconvinced. "Are you planning to have them look for X?"

"No, we're laying the groundwork. If you want to shoot the general, first shoot his horse."

"The general is X... So the horse is...the heart?"

"Right. First, we're going to check into the donor who saved your life."

This "X" that Natsunagi was looking for had to have been close to the heart's former owner.

In that case, pinpointing who the donor was would have to come first. "Then shouldn't we be going to a hospital?"

"I'd love to, but unfortunately, I don't have any medical connections." "...That means you do know somebody here."

"Well, don't get so tense. C'mon, we're going in."

And so we stepped into the towering skyscraper that housed the Metropolitan Police Department.

Blow your head off

"Hey. It's been a while, you damn kid. Finally decided to turn yourself in?"

A woman finally entered the room where we were waiting and dropped heavily onto the sofa across from Natsunagi and me, kicking out her long legs in a lazy way.

"Ms. Fuubi, I'm not sure women should sit with their legs spread like that." "Shove it. Gender's got nothin' to do with getting by here." As she spoke,

she lit a fat cigar.

Striking was one way to describe her face—flashy was another—and she wore her uniform in an incredibly casual way. Her blazing-red hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail.

Nobody who was seeing her for the first time would have believed it, but Fuubi Kase was a police inspector.

Considering the fact that she'd been a beat cop when I first met her five or six years back, for somebody who was (probably) in her late twenties, she seemed to be making good progress in her career.

"So what did you pull this time? Theft? Murder?"

"I haven't done anything. As a matter of fact, I recently got a public commendation for catching another burglar."

"You're the first one on the scene of a solid seventy percent of all the crimes in this district. You really can't blame us for suspecting you stage them."

"It just happens. It's how I'm wired."

My bad luck with Ms. Fuubi began right when she became a police officer

and started showing up at crime scenes.

I must have left an impression in her mind as that suspicious kid who was almost always at a murder scene. I'd really love to clear up that misunderstanding, but she still seems to think I'm sketchy.

"It is, huh? And you wired yourself up to a real detective?"

"...No idea. If I had to say, it felt more like she drew me to her, twisted me tight around her little finger, and then went off somewhere far away by herself."

That's right: Extremely far away. Somewhere you couldn't find on any map; a distant, unreachable—

"Hah! Well, that's true." Smiling slightly, Ms. Fuubi gave a husky laugh. "And what about you? You workin' solo now?"

"...No, there's nothing I can do on my own. Besides, it looks like I'm not even on their radar; things have been so peaceful it's scary."

"Well, damn. You're pretty heartless. The dead tell no tales, huh?"

I had no intention of saying that much. After all, she'd probably haunt me for it.

"Ow!"

Just then, a sharp pain ran through my foot. When I looked down, Natsunagi's sneaker was stomping on it.

"What was that for?"

"Huh? Oh, um, just for...reasons? And hey, don't shut me out like this." Don't stomp a guy for "...reasons?" Seriously.

"Uh, so, Ms. Fuubi. Getting down to business, I wanted to speak with you about this girl, my friend—"

"So your girlfriend?"

"No, that's why I said them separately."

Ms. Fuubi's eyes went to Natsunagi, seated beside me.

"It's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Nagisa Natsunagi. I'm here on Mr. Kimizuka's introduction."

"Mr. Kimizuka"... That had a very different ring to it. And hey, Natsunagi can behave politely in public, huh?

"So you just wanna 'speak with' me and make an 'introduction,' huh?

Fine. Let's hear it. Briefly," Ms. Fuubi said and lit her second cigar.

A few minutes later... "I see."

When we'd finished our story, Ms. Fuubi exhaled one last, long puff of smoke, then stubbed out the butt in the ashtray.

"I get what's going on... But why'd you come here?" Narrowing her already sharp eyes even further, she glared at us. "You want us to look for the person who donated her heart? You know we're not doctors, right?"

"Finding people is technically a job for the police." "Not finding organ donors."

Obviously irritated, Ms. Fuubi crossed her legs.

"There, what did I tell you? This was the wrong place," Natsunagi whispered, jabbing me with her elbow. Well, just hang on a minute.

"Police organizations aren't completely disconnected from these incidents. In fact, if the police aren't present, they can't even declare a potential donor brain-dead."

By law, all cases in which brain death is declared have to be reported to the First Investigation Division of the National Police Agency's Criminal Affairs Bureau. Autopsies are also performed under the supervision and direction of the chief of the police station in each jurisdiction. That means, when I chose to come here, I wasn't that far off base. And besides—

"I didn't come to the police. I came to you."

Not just anyone would do. This was the kind of thing I could ask because it was Ms. Fuubi.

"And what does that get you?"

"Ms. Fuubi, you aren't like ordinary police officers." "I'm not? How so?"

"Your resolution."

Or maybe it would be better to say her goals.

This woman isn't like the officers who want money and power. That's why

—and I mean this in the kindest way possible—she's not really bound by common sense.

"There's no way I can release a donor's personal information to an average Joe."

"I know."

"Besides, I'm with a different jurisdiction, and my position doesn't come with the authority to disclose information."

"I know that, too."

"Then why did you come to me?"

"Because I figured you'd manage anyway. Since it's you." "...What's wrong with you?"

Looking a little embarrassed, Ms. Fuubi raked her fingers roughly through her red hair. "Look. You already know I want to get to the top here. That means I don't want to run any risks that could trip me up."

"Ha-ha, pretty late to pretend you have common sense, don't you think?" "I'm gonna blow your head off."

She pointed her gun at my forehead.

"...Um, I pretty sure this would count as a risk."

I mean, take a look. Even Natsunagi is all tense.

"Well, that's how it is. Sorry, sweetheart, but go home, wouldja?" Holstering her gun, Ms. Fuubi stretched.

"No... Please. No matter what it takes, I..."

"You can ask as nicely as you want, but I can't do what I can't do." With that, she stood up, rolling her shoulders. "Besides, I'm busy. I'm scheduled to stop at the big house after this."

Big house? ...Oh. I get it now.

Natsunagi seemed confused, but the explanations would have to wait. "You're going to meet somebody?"

Ms. Fuubi stopped, one hand on the door. "Somebody you know real well.

So, y'know, if you're planning to follow me, it's a free country."

Bingo, huh? Geez, she's the opposite of straightforward.

"Just for the record, let me ask. Does this person have good ears?" At that, Ms. Fuubi turned back.

"Yeah. He never forgets the sound of a heart once he's heard it."

No, not that kind of euphemism

After the fifteen-minute drive from the Metropolitan Police Department to the big house, we followed Ms. Fuubi through heavy security, then headed down, deep underground.

We went down stairs, then down more stairs. As we did, the number of lights decreased, and our footsteps echoed more.

"You've only got until I finish my job upstairs. That's about twenty minutes. Can you stick to that?" Ms. Fuubi tossed her question back at us over her shoulder.

"Of course."

Even though she'd shoved us away by pretending not to care what we did, she was showing us the way, which pushed her past "not straightforward" to "way too nice." I mean, she'd actually given us a ride over here in a police car.

"You aren't going to see him, Ms. Fuubi?"

"Ha. No matter what I say, he won't talk. It's a waste of time." "If he's giving you trouble, he must really be something else."

"As if you've got nothing to do with him. You're the one who brought him in."

"I know nothing about that. Tell it to the deceased detective."

"Don't use your partner as a pardon," Ms. Fuubi said, giving my head a little shove. "There you go. We're here."

The air down here on this floor was even more stagnant than the rest of the dark interior. The smell of mold almost made me wrinkle my nose.

"Twenty minutes, you hear? You're not getting any more. You either, sweetheart; understand?"

With that final warning, Ms. Fuubi lightly raised a hand, then started back up the stairs we'd just come down.

The ones she left behind were me and—

"...Um, Kimizuka? Probably should've asked earlier, but weren't we headed to someone's house?"

—Natsunagi, who was looking around a little restlessly. "Yeah. This is the house, Natsunagi."

"Where, exactly?!"

Where? If I had to say, well... "I mean, it is a prison."

"I noticed that; I'm asking why!" Natsunagi pulled on my ear mercilessly. Apparently, she only played innocent in public. "I was visualizing a log cabin–style place, and now we're here in all this concrete with iron bars all over the place."

"Mm-hmm. Because it's a prison." "What happened to the house, huh?"

"It's a euphemism." "A-a euphemism?" "...Now listen..."

Why does she seem a little excited? She's exactly what I thought she was.

"It's a slang term for 'prison.' Sometimes they call it 'the big house' instead. It's common knowledge."

"Common knowledge to who?"

"Common knowledge if you've been flying overseas with attaché cases full of unknown contents since you were in middle school."

"Boy, sure hope I never get to know anybody like that."

You're standing next to one right now.

"So? Why are we here?"

Natsunagi seemed to be more used to the place now. She was looking around, trying to peer in through the iron bars.

"Not over there. She said the one we're here for is all the way at the end." I took the lead, walking in front of Natsunagi.

"Who's here?" "Some old guy." "Be serious."

"Some old guy who gave up on being human."

"Well, seeing how he's down here, he might as well have given up his humanity, but..."

"No, that's not what I meant." This was an extremely serious fact, and an irreversible one. "The man we're about to meet is literally not human."

Say this daily routine of mine—of ours—and all the little bits and pieces that aren't routine happened to be a story. If there were people who were hoping that story would be a genuine mystery, I'd like to take the opportunity to apologize. I don't think this story will be what they're here for.

"Kimizuka, that man..." Natsunagi caught the edge of my sleeve hesitantly.

In the very back of the basement, there was a small steel room that was completely enclosed. When we looked in through the only window—a small glass plate in the door—we saw a seated man with chains wrapped around his arms.

After a pause, the shutter door slid open with a dull creak. "Hey, it's been a long time—Bat."

At the sound of my voice, the man twitched. There was stubble on his chin, and his blond hair was messy. At last, his face slowly, sluggishly turned toward us.

"Now, there's a sound that brings back memories—ace detective."