All of them ran on coffee. The
thing practically almost ran in their veins, save for A who was struggling to
get the alcohol out of her bloodstream.
Peters always drank an
Americano. True to his North American (the Bronx!)
roots, he didn’t want any bullshit with his coffee. Sugar was for sissies and
creamer made him roll his eyes. Just give him a steaming cup of espresso
diluted with hot water, and he’d be set. Give, drink, done. That was how he did
it.
Meanwhile, A liked hers with a
bit more flavor. Bitterness repelled her, the tart taste making her want to
throw up. It was like her taste in alcohol – give her some flavor, and she’ll
relent. This was why she preferred either a Café Mocha or a Macchiato. As long
as there was some flavor (sweet, most definitely) she’d take it and drink. When
worse came to worse, she’d add in some whiskey or vodka in secret.
And then there was Touta. If
Peters wanted it straight and A liked flavor, he’d just step between the two of
them and ask for whatever the hell they had. Coffee was coffee – whether you
liked it or not didn’t matter, as long as he had his own fill. Others at the
office would take a whiff of him and comment that today was a different kind of
coffee, a few jokingly saying, “Ah, it’s a Monday so he’s drinking it black.”
He personally didn’t mind,
often laughing along as he drank.
Fast forward to the current
day. Both A and Touta were patiently (A rather the opposite) waiting for Peters
to arrive, both of them knowing that he would always be the last due to intense
laziness, wanting an extra large cup of coffee, or cursing the morning traffic.
More often than not, it would be the last case.
“He’s late again.”
“Calm down, A.” a slight smirk
made its way to Touta’s face, “He’ll be here soon.”
That made the Englishwoman
frown. Soon, in Peters’ case, meant an extra twenty minutes. Just as she was
about to bite back a retort, the white door slammed open, the six footer
panting his way inside with an extra large cup, the scent making A wrinkle her
nose in distaste.
“Sorry, wanted an extra large
this time. Did you two start already?”
“We were just starting,
actually.” Touta looked up at Peters and gestured to the seat, then turned his
laptop to both of them. “Last night’s pictures, just came in…thought you wanted
a look for yourselves.”
“She doesn’t appear to have any
injuries,” A murmured.
“She actually has, just small
ones.”
“Because of the fall?”
“That was what I initially
thought. Turns out there were shards of glass near her, some of which
scratching her…sent them to Thomas last night, as I had said in the call, but
he hasn’t actually updated me about them.”
“Might be sleeping.”
“That’s what I think.”
“So,” Peters broke in, “Do you
have any information on who she is?”
“Not exactly.” Touta glanced up
at the wall clock, “I’ll be going to the station later on to collect her file.
So,” he looked at the two younger agents, “Do you have any theories?”
A, who had closed her eyes,
spoke. “Might be connected with last week’s murder, and the one that happened a
week before that.”
“But do we have any
connections? Any relevant ones, that is.”
“All three victims were
reported to not have any trace of external injuries. Additionally, they both
happened a week away from each other. Since the case hasn’t been solved yet…”
she looked at the two men, “There’s a high chance that this guy is a serial and
won’t stop until we arrest him, kill him, or he stops himself due to boredom.
And by definition,” she added upon seeing Peters frown, “A serial killer is
someone who has murdered at least three or more people over a period. In
between the murders, he takes a break. Down time. Whichever. He meets the
criteria – that is, if these are all connected. What else can it be?”
“Contract?”
“Who’d want them to be killed?”
Touta hid a smile. “Alright,
alright. Say this is a serial. What
connects the victims? Or are they random picks just to confuse the police?”
“There’s got to be something…as
small the connection, whether they all met in a coffee shop, if they all worked
for the same man or drank the same drinks,
there’s got to be something. Which is why we need their data.”
“Touta’s picking up the third
victim’s,” Peters spoke. “I’ll take the first.” A nodded.
“Alright. Shall we meet back in
an hour? And no coffee breaks,” she told the American with a look. “At least
buy us some drinks if you’re getting for yourself.”
“Fine, fine. Calm your lady
pieces.”
At that, they went off. Peters
sped off to the front desk, where his English co-worker was working the desk
like a pro. “Olsen,” he greeted. The brunette flashed a friendly smile.
“Good morning, ol’ chap! What’s
on the to-do list?”
“Do you know the murder that
happened two weeks ago?”
“Two weeks, eh…let me think –
ah,” he snapped his fingers, “I’ve got it. The casino?” Peters nodded, “I’ve
got the file over here…hold on a bit.” Olsen turned away and looked through the
file cabinet, searching for a minute before turning back to him with a
satisfied smile. “Here you go, mate. What’s with the sudden curiosity?”
“It’s A.” Peters sighed and
took the folder, “She thinks all three are connected, we’re trying to find
commonalities starting with the victims themselves.”
This made the man chuckle. “Of
course she does…I wish you luck with the case.”
“Thanks, Olsen. Just keep
working – and get the girl,” he added as an afterthought, making the man’s
brown eyes widen, chuckling nervously.
“Piss off, Hairy Pete.”
Down the road, Touta and A were
driving to the station, both of them talking about other matters. A’s coffee
had gone cold and she was itching for a new one, Touta promising that they
would buy another if they’d pass by a coffee shop on their way back.
“I feel bad for cutting the
date, though.”
“Don’t be – he understands,”
Touta started, but stopped once catching sight of the station and neatly
parking. A got out after, he following her, the sound of chatter and yelling
filling their ears upon entry.
“Sawashiro?”
“Sawashiro ain’t here,” another
police called, making his way to them. “Sorry for the noise, noisy
little…Matsuda, right? Yeah, he left this for you,” the man said, holding a
folder and handing it, catching sight of A afterwards. “Oh – good morning,
miss.”
“Good morning, Officer – I’m
looking for the file of the person who died in last week’s murder,” A managed,
Touta leafing through the file. The officer nodded, “We’re investigating it
further.”
“Of course, of course. Hold on
just a minute,” the man said before turning back and going to search for the
thing. Touta looked up, seeing A uneasily inch away from the noise of it all.
“Here you go – good luck on the case.”
“Thank you.” A then stalked
right out, clutching the folder tightly. Touta gave her a look. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t like noise and
crowds,” she muttered before getting in the front seat of the car.
Time passed. The three
eventually met back in the same office, A drinking from a new paper cup and
still looking twitchy, Peters deciding not to irritate her as much.
“Victim one is Taro Watanabe,”
he started. “Early forties, has a wife but no kids, works for a company. Crime
scene was the front of a casino, late night. Died just as the people reached
him, when the ambulance came he was already gone.”
A cleared her throat and spoke.
“Second victim was Minoru Sato,
in his early twenties. High school drop out from a wealthy family, did not
remain in contact with them at all...was found around an abandoned area during
the early morning, head submerged in liquid later identified to be water…out of
the three, this seems the weirdest,” she muttered.
“And our latest victim was Miss
Kazumi Tanaka. Mid-twenties this time, worked as a prostitute. Came from a poor
family with only her mother, her older sister seems unreachable. As for the
scene…you three already know,” Touta concluded with a slight sigh. “There we
have it.”
A ran a hand through her black
locks, looking down at her coffee cup. “They don’t seem connected. Not at all. Even
their family histories are far off. Hell – they don’t even look like family.”
“So this goes into a
psychological thing, I think.” Both looked at Peters, “Or at least much deeper
than what’s expected. At this point, anyone can be the next victim just as
anyone can be the killer. So what do we do?”
Touta answered this time.
“Dig deeper.”
No comments:
Post a Comment