[h3]Tokyo[/h3]


[b]Metropolitan Police HQ
3:21 PM[/B]

Detective Inspector Matsumoto shook a cigarette free from his pack of Cornell's and passed it across the table to the man. Shin Nishimura's bald head gleamed in the harsh light of the interrogation room. Matusmoto supplied a match, Nishimura mumbling his thanks as he inhaled his first puff. Matsumoto glanced towards the two-way mirror on the far side of the room. He nodded while Nishmura's eyes kept darting up at the microphone bolted to the ceiling above their heads, and then againd own at the manila folder resting on the table between them. The folder, along with a glass ashtray, were the only items on the table.

"Western brand," Nishimura said, observing the cigarette and making a face. 

"I served abroad in the Army," said Matsumoto. "In China, they were all over the place so I developed a taste for them."

Nishimura shook his head. "Give me Red Apples any day. But a man in my position cannot afford to be picky."

"You know why you are here," said Matsomoto. It was not a question. 

Nishimura shrugged. "You think I did something."

"We [i]know[/i] you have done something, Nishimura-san."

Matsumoto took time to light his own cigarette, ignoring Nishimura's further protests of innocence while he did so. He stayed silent and stared across the table at the man. He wasn't much to look at, Nishimura. Thin with a bald head and a beak like nose, a thick salt and pepper mustache resting underneath the large nose. Late thirties to early forties judging by the graying facial hair. 

"Aiko Saito," Matsumoto finally said. "Does this name not sound familiar?"

Nishimura apologized and said, "It does not, Inspector."

"Perhaps you are better with faces than names?"

Matsumoto wedged his cigarette into his mouth and opened the folder. Inside were glossy black and white crime scene photos. A half-nude woman, stripped from the waist down, rested on the ground. Her arms were akimbo in the grass. The last few shots shots were in so tight it was easy to make out the marks encircling her neck. 

"Meet Aiko Saito. Her body was found in a park in the Shibuya Ward two days ago. Does her face appear familiar?"

Nishimura shook his head. The fingers holding his cigarette began to tremble. Ashes fell on the table. Matsumoto closed the file and wiped ash from the table.

"The girl's mother reported that you would often call on her. As did her friends. The mother and the friends both say that you were promising the girl a job at the laundry you run. Is this not correct?"

"Yes," said Nishimura. He nodded vigorously. "I remember the girl now. She wanted a job at my laundry, yes. And I was in the process of creating an opening for her. But I have not seen her in several weeks."

"Did you offer her a job if she would have sex with you?"

"What? No. Inspector, I am a married man. I love my wife--"

"You wanted to fuck her," said Matusomoto. "But she was a virgin and she didn't want to. So you took it. You fucked her in her cunt. You fucked her in her ass. Then you killed her. You strangled her with your bare hands."

Nishimura dropped the cigarette on the table. "What? No, I didn't do that!"

Matsumoto stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray on the table. "Nishimura, you are a rapist and a murderer. You disgrace your race, your country, and your Heavenly Sovereign with your actions. You wanted to fuck her. Only, she didn't want to. So you took it. You fucked her in her cunt. You fucked her in her ass. Then you killed her. You strangled her with your bare hands."

"No! No! No!"

Nishmura began to openly weep and bang his hands on the table. Matsumoto sighed and stood up. He looked towards the mirror and nodded again. The door leading into the room swung open. Matsumoto's junior officers walked into the room. Six young men in cheap suits, the only thing their paltry salaries could provide for them. They each carried a bamboo cane in their hands. Nishimura sobbed at the sight.

Matsuomoto spoke over the man's sobs. "Nishimura-san, these fine young men serve me. We are Room #1 for the Tokyo Metropolitan Police's homicide division. We are the best."

The young men cheered, raising their canes in the air.

"In the year since I took over, we have solved every murder thrown our way."

Another cheer. Matsumoto smiled while Nishimura began to shake his head violently. 

"I did not do it! I did not murder or rape anyone! Please believe me!"

Matsumoto nodded at the young men. Two of them moved the table out of their way while the rest walked forward with their canes. Nishimura began to scream as the young detectives lashed out.


---


[b]4 PM[/b]


Nishimura smoked a fresh cigarette with bloody, shaking hands. One of the junior detectives had to light it for him and pass it across the table. Matsuomoto looked back over at the two-way mirror and nodded. He heard the buzz of the overhead microphone as it came on and started to record.  

"Tell me about the girl."

"I wanted to fuck her," Nishimura said in a neutral voice. His face was a mass of welts and bruises. His shirt covered in blood. "Only she didn't want to."

"So what did you do?"

"So, I took it," he said. "I fucked her in her cunt. I fucked her in her ass. Then I killed her."

"How did you kill her?"

"Strangled her with my bare hands."

"Thank you for your cooperation, Nishimura-san."

Matsumoto stood and walked out of the room. One of the boys would see to it that Nishimura would be escorted to a cell for a hearty dinner and a chance to recover from the interrogation. With the confession, he would be hanged for his crimes in less than a month's times. The Empire had no use for criminals, murderers and rapists especially. The wheels of justice were fast moving. The quicker the criminals were put to death, the easier it was to move on from their crimes.

The incident had not been publicized, and neither would be Nishimura's arrest and execution. His death would be filed as a simple heart attack or cancer or natural causes, the same with the girl's murder. That  was if either deaths were recorded at all. Statistically, the Empire had the lowest murder rate in the world, and Tokyo was heralded as the shining example of imperial efficiency. To be a subject of the empire was to be safe from things like hunger and murder. At least officially. The truth was, this case marked the twelfth one for Matsuomoto's room this year. His room was one of four, and the other Inspectors reported similar numbers for their rooms. That meant over fifty murders in Tokyo in seven months. Safest city in the world, indeed, thought Matsumoto.  

Room #1 comprised of seven desks. There were three pairs of two desks facing each other. Matsumoto's desk sat in the corner, facing everyone else. Posters and bulletins written in Kanji and Kana were hung on the wall alongside wanted posters. The rest of his squad was busy processing Nishimura, so Matsumoto was surprised to see another man in the office.

"Superintendent Mori," Matsumoto said with a bow. 

Mori leaned against Matsumoto's desk while he smoked a cigarette. The superintendent always wore a black suit and tie with a white shirt, something no one ever did unless they were attending a funeral. Everyone called Mori [i]Andāteikā[/i]-- The Undertaker -- behind his back. His pale complexion didn't help combat the nickname.

"Congratulations are in order," said Mori. "I caught the end there, but I know what the results were. Another confession from Room #1."

Matsumoto bowed again. "Thank you, sir."

"I know you are still wrapping up one murder, but I need your expertise on something else."

Matsumoto raised an eyebrow. Mori sighed and blew smoke from his mouth and motioned to follow him. They left the office and climbed the stairs up to the eighth floor. Matsumoto had never been on this floor before, but he knew the offices of the Major Case Unit and Organized Crime Bureau were housed here. Mori led him to a room halfway down the corridor. It was almost like Matsumoto's office downstairs only bigger. Thirty-two desks were grouped together in pairs of four, while two supervisor's desk sat off to the side on opposite ends of the room. The only difference was the cork board.

"Take a look," said Mori.

Matsumoto stepped forward. Atop the board were photos of three young men. Under them were written their names, dates of birth, and dates of death. The youngest had been fifteen, the oldest nineteen. More information was pinned further down the board, autopsy reports and ballistic reports and field interrogation summaries.

"Three murders," said Matsumoto. 

"Four," said Mori. "Another young man was gunned down last night." 

Matsumoto nodded towards the board. "All in the last two months."  

Mori grunted. "We are assembling a task force to investigate it. Homicide, Organized Crime, and Major Cases are all contributing men, and I have been chosen to lead. With your record, you are the best candidate to serve as my second in command. As soon as the paperwork on Nishimura is finished, Room #1 will report here until further notice."

Matsumoto bowed again. Inside he felt excitement, but the bow was for modesty sake. It would be unbecoming to laugh or smile or even celebrate in front of a superior. 

"When do I start?" Matsumoto asked.

"Now Inspector." said Mori. He pointed to boxes stacked in the room's corner. "Start reading up on the last three murders."