Vices: A Race **Chapter 001**

Touta Matsuda makes his way through the crowd, flashing his ID to the onlookers and seeing them scurry away. Other policemen try to make the crowd leave, others staring with disgust and others taking pictures. The Japanese doesn’t mind this; all he had to do was check out what the hell the commotion was about.

After many years of travelling and investigating, arresting and watching as they were shut away, it almost felt like a routine at this point.

And there it was – the body.

The tape had already been lined around, the chalk carefully there, forming the shape of this newest victim – a woman in a black dress that reached her knees, her eyes wide with shock. She didn’t appear to have any external injuries at all.

“Ah, Matsuda. Pleased to see you here,” Sawashiro greeted him. Touta gave a bow and looked at the victim once more, “Asked my men to get the crowd away. Called you here because this one looked peculiar.”

“Don’t they all seem peculiar, officer?”

“Hah – good one. Take a good look.” He handed Touta gloves and all the gear, the man sliding them on with ease before moving closer and observing the victim’s body. “See anything of use?”

“She doesn’t have any bruises or anything. A few wounds, yes, but because of the ground.” He looked at the pavement, the faint smell of blood rising to his nostrils.

“Keep looking, Matsuda. I’ve fetched the medical team, stuck in traffic they must be…damned bikers and shit taking advantage of the blocked roads.”

He nodded at this and kept looking. Bleached blonde hair, eyes staring widely into space. He closed the eyes of this woman and kept searching, not hesitating to look much further. No bruises, no anything.

When he stood back up, he heard a small crunch on the ground. Giving a small, surprised jump, he looked under his shoe to see splinters of what seemed to be glass.

“Sawashiro, tongs and a ziplock, if you please.”

“Eh? Hold on,” he rustled around and found the required materials, “Did you find some evidence already?”

“Just this.” He took the tongs and opened the ziplock, carefully extracting the shards of glass from the ground and sliding them into the plastic. “Glass shards – glass shards everywhere. That must be where her cuts came from.”

“From the shards and not from the rocky ground?”

“The former seems more likely,” he murmured, standing back up and handing the tongs back to the middle-aged officer.

“Assault?”

“By having a glass thrown at her? I’m not so sure. Besides,” he added, “Judging by how much glass there is, it can’t be something big like a beer bottle.”

Sawashiro cracked a small smile. “I knew you were the right guy. Still handling the two murders from the past two weeks. No leads so far, I thought of giving them to you guys. Thought your squad might appreciate something new.”

Touta allowed himself to laugh. “I figured that they might. Agent Peters is itching to move instead of bust drugs and robberies.”

“Samuel? The guy who worked on the recent bust over down south? I like him – met his dad once, concering something with the States and Japan...but that’s for another day.”

“Save that one when we go out for drinking, Sawashiro. Maybe I’ll include Samuel.” Touta looked back down at the ziplock he was holding. “If I may, I’ll be giving this to Thomas now – forensics. Forward any more pieces of evidence to him, and he’ll be working on it as soon as he can.”

“Macmillan Thomas, right?”

“Right. But he prefers to be called Mack.”

“Goddamn Americans and their nicknames…alright, alright. I’ll handle this one,” Sawashiro gestured to the scene around him, “And update you on anything else. Tell me if your team would appreciate the further investigation of the murders two weeks back…especially the young German lady you have.”

“Agent Maxwell would very much appreciate it, Sawashiro. Good night.”

Sawashiro bade him goodbye before going back to the scene, and Touta exited. The crowd had decreased, people only stopping for a few seconds before looking away and moving on. It was nearly half-past two, he noted, after checking his watch.

He had gotten into his car, discarding the gloves. The gear he had left behind. Touta slid the key in, buckled up, and drove away, the flashing lights of police cars and ambulances seeming to trail him no matter how far away he went.