The lot was neglected. Empty, somewhat narrow, and full of potholes. Across the way, an old apartment building stood, dark and silent, most of its windows boarded up, so, clearly, no one lived there. I picked out a sign on the back door, declaring that the property had been condemned.
“This is it,” Sugita murmured, stopping just at the edge of the building’s shadow.
“This is what?” I fought with the wind to light a cigarette. “No murderer with half a brain would dump his victim so close to his hideout.”
Past his dripping hair, Sugita’s forehead looked more wrinkled than ever, and he didn’t even blink as he studied the mansion.
“Even if the killer is that dumb, like you said, Naito would have caught him by now.”
Leaning lightly against the alley wall, Sugita looked down at me. Something in his bronze gaze looked haunting and almost alluring, so I focused on the sight of the decrepit mansion. One of its walls sagged, which was probably why no one lived there now, and it looked so bleak, I doubted the tenants had been happy in the first place. Jammed between taller but equally miserable structures, it hardly seemed to have a place of its own, but instead of tearing it down, the world had utterly forgotten it.
Sugita asked, quietly, “What does a serial killer do with his evidence and victims?”
We’d never encountered a serial killer before, and I didn’t know the real answer, but I said, “The only way to be a serial killer in the first place is to avoid getting caught, so they must find some way to conceal everything.”
“Yes. And the motive is usually sick pleasure.”
It smacked of what Naito had said about the motive seeming to be hunger. “Let’s not get philosophical here, Ken-o. As far as we know, we’re still on a missing person’s case.”
Still, he mused, “One misplaced piece of DNA could be the killer’s undoing—concealing evidence is crucial—but what if the killer needs his victim for something?”
“I can’t imagine what a serial killer would need his victim for. I don’t watch enough TV.” I tugged at my collar again. The rain was getting heavier, spattering my head and face relentlessly, gradually soaking my cigarette. “But in that case, he’d lose the luxury of being able to dispose of the body.”
Expression darker and more disturbed than ever, he gazed strangely at the building, and as I watched him, his body shuddered.
“Eddo Geinu,” he whispered.
“Ed Gein? Is that what you’re trying to say?”
He shot me an unappreciative frown.
“You need to work on that.”
“Okay, English professor. You know who I’m talking about, though.”
“Of course. Church of Misery wrote a song about him.”
Sugita rolled his eyes. “Will you please take this seriously?”
“Gein was more a grave robber than a serial killer, but okay, yeah, he had a reason to keep his victims’ remains. Is that what you’re getting at?”
His thick lips puckered in an uncertain frown, and he turned his gaze on the building again.
“Hell, what was in Naito’s file anyway? We don’t have any evidence that we’re after a killer, let alone the kind of sicko who keeps a box full of lady parts on his nightstand.”
“Hypothetically, if we are on the trail of a killer, and the body of Kishi hasn’t been found…” He shook his head, agitated. “It must be somewhere.”
I threw my hands up. “Dude. Ken. What are you saying?”
Uncomfortably, he hesitated. “I’m not saying anything.”
No, he wouldn’t give me any concrete answers, and that was so unlike him. He’d never been talkative, but when he had something to say, he expected people to listen, so he tended to stay on-point, give his real opinion, and tell me exactly what he was thinking. I couldn’t imagine what would cause him to deviate so far from his nature.
Some way or another, he’d followed his gut here. I always wanted to believe my partner’s reasons were sound, but reality was, the image I held of him in my head, simultaneously indestructible and tender, didn’t reflect the high-strung workaholic that was my partner. He might be way off base, so desperate to find out what had happened to Kishi, he’d do anything for a lead. That lack of ideas could even explain why he suddenly refused to communicate with me.
“Tell me this,” I insisted. “Did you really read something in Naito’s file that makes you feel like our victim is here?”
Gravely, Sugita nodded.
That was that. As long as he believed in even a slim possibility, he’d never let this go, and I couldn’t let his desperation lead him to do something stupid.
“Okay, fine.” I tossed my damp cigarette butt and checked my gun. “Lead the way.”
Confident, but alert, he threw his shoulders back and stormed across the parking lot to the grimy backdoor of the mansion, where we huddled at the wall, inspecting the heavy chain wrapped around the handle. “Can you pick the lock?” he asked, without any ado.
I lifted the padlock to check the keyhole. “Probably. Should I, though? We don’t have proper clearance, or even probable cause.”
Sugita drew a long pause.
I looked up at him again. “Do we have probable cause?”
Instead of answering, he mumbled, somewhat sheepishly, “Ask forgiveness not permission. Isn’t that what you always say?”
“Typically, it’s because I’m almost positive I’m right.”
“I’m right,” he said, firmly. “And no one’s going to sue us for breaking into this place. Let’s go.”
If I didn’t, he’d probably try to shoot the lock off or put his fist through a window. For such a smart guy, he could be so bull-headed and impulsive.
There was also a possibility we were about to stumble upon Naito’s killer, and showing that pretentious kid up was worth the risk to me.
“Can’t catch the tiger’s cub without entering a tiger’s cave.” I shrugged, and fished out my lock pick.
The lock turned out to be more complicated than it looked, and by the time I finished, my hands hurt from gripping the freezing steel, the knees of my slacks had gotten muddy, and I was beginning to feel annoyed.
Sugita must have noticed, because he took the time to touch my shoulder before striding past me, the only thanks I’d get.
“We’d better be close to wrapping up,” I hissed, following him in. “I’m getting cranky.”
He touched a finger to his lips. “Keep your eyes open.”
This place hadn’t been occupied in a long time—the first floor had been completely gutted, as if they’d been in the middle of a construction project when it got condemned, so the flooring had been torn up, leaving broken tiles scattered across bare concrete. I shone my flashlight up the rickety-looking stairs, but all was silent, save the sound of dripping water. At the far wall, an open elevator shaft waited, completely exposed, like a pit straight to hell.
Smart detectives wouldn’t try to search a shady place like this alone.
The way Sugita stood in the center of the lobby, staring into the far corner, gave me the sense, again, that something serious weighed on his mind. “This place,” he muttered to himself. “Feels evil. Doesn’t it?”
“Evil?” I took a deep breath. Beneath the stench of stagnant water and mildew clouding my nostrils, I thought I detected something nasty. Maybe raw sewage or a rotting rat carcass. “Are you sure you’re not just letting your imagination run away with you?”
An irritated look shadowed his face. “Definitely not.”
“Well, it’s an abandoned building. Could be haunted,” I joked. “First aliens, now ghosts.”
Sugita stepped up to the elevator shaft, and I watched nervously as he lingered right at the edge, pointing his light at the bottom. “Something is down there.”
“Something like what?” I circled around behind him, careful not to get close enough to see the drop.
“Hard to tell.” He turned to locate the nearby stairs, and then tromped that way, steps bouncing heavily in the open space.
Glad to get away from the shaft, I clipped after him. “What exactly did Naito’s file say, Sugita? That old Eddo Geinu’s back from hell and looking to finish his suit with Japanese skin?”
Sugita turned on his heel, eyes flashing. “I’m not playing, Handa!” His voice echoed through the building. “You need to take this seriously!”
I spread my hands. “I am taking it seriously, but—”
“This is not the time for jokes!”
“You’re right,” I deflected, automatically. “That was tasteless.”
“Grow the hell up,” he commanded, whipping around to stomp down the stairs.
Under my breath, just quiet enough that he wouldn’t hear, I said, “Maybe if you’d tell me what’s got your panties in a knot…” And then I called out, as I started after him, “Why hasn’t this place been torn down? It looks like it’s been abandoned forever.”
Sugita didn’t answer.
“It’s weird,” I added. “Squatter heaven.” As we reached the basement floor, I shone my light around, but everything was just brick and concrete. No sign of any homeless people. “Doesn’t really fit the Tokyo image.”
“This is bad,” Sugita muttered to himself.
“What are you talking about?” I was starting to feel alarmed by his response to this place. “What’s here that has you so—?”
I broke off, gagging, as a wall of the putrid scent of rotting flesh hit me, and stumbled back. It was much too potent to be the carcass of a rat.
Undaunted, Sugita marched across the room, one sleeve over his mouth and nose, flashlight wavering only slightly as he approached the elevator shaft again. In the light, I made out the shape of a body lying on the floor.
I dashed to his side. “Is it Kishi?”
“I can’t tell.”
No shit. It was a woman’s corpse, but the breasts had been torn off and the vagina had been mutilated. Someone had removed the head, and all the blood appeared to have been drained, even though there was very little on the ground. An animal had gnawed on the remains.
“She’s not alone,” Sugita said, grimly. His light darted across the floor, revealing several more carcasses and clean bones, heaped up in the corner.
“Fuck.” I retched, covering my nose. “What the fuck is this?”
Face stricken by horror, he stared at the body again and then suddenly directed his light at the shaft again, pointing it for a long time at the ground, where the concrete was scorched black. The stench of sulfur mixed with the reek of rancid flesh.
“It looks like somebody had a bonfire.” I crept closer to shine my light up the shaft. Its interior was burned halfway to the floor above us. “A huge bonfire.” I glanced around my feet for any traces of fuel, but there was nothing, not even charred bones.
“We have to get out of here,” he decided, tightly. “Right now.”
This was starting to creep me out. We ought to have a whole team with us, but no one even knew we’d come here.
“Right now,” I agreed, turning to lead the way, but froze.
At the very peripheral of my light, the shadow of a man lingered, still as a gargoyle, blocking our way to the steps.
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