Early morning in the suburbs was quiet and heavy. Six o'clock. The sun had only just risen above the horizon, but the stifling heat was already felt, promising to make the day unbearable. The air shimmered above the asphalt like water. Birds, mostly sparrows and a few crows, sang loudly and persistently in the crowns of old trees surrounding the hospital grounds. Their trills sounded sharp and annoying, as if trying to wake the dead.
Detective Itsuki slowly drove up in his old dark-gray car to the main entrance of the morgue. The engine quietly rumbled and fell silent. He sat behind the wheel for a few seconds, looking at the unremarkable one-story building with cracked walls and a rusty sign. In his hands was a thin folder with documents, a warrant to examine the body, and the victim's passport.
Nara Asaki. 21 years old. Found on May 18 in an abandoned building. Killed, presumably, on May 17. Tfu, tfu, may she rest in peace.
Itsuki took a deep breath, opened the door, and got out of the car. The heat immediately enveloped his body. He adjusted his wrinkled jacket, tucked the folder under his arm, and slowly headed toward the morgue entrance.
Inside it was cooler, but a heavy, sweetish-putrid smell immediately hit the nose. Itsuki walked down the long corridor and stopped at the guard's station. Behind the glass sat an elderly man about fifty-five years old. He was slowly writing something in a thick notebook and didn't even raise his head.
Itsuki stood for a second, then loudly cleared his throat.
- Khhm.
The guard slowly raised his head, looked at him with tired, red eyes, and said indifferently:
- We're closed today.
Itsuki sighed heavily and shifted his gaze to the iron door leading to the morgue room.
- The morning in the village has begun... he muttered. - Why exactly today?
The guard shrugged, leaned back in his chair, and calmly replied:
- The sign isn't hanging for gourmets, citizen. It says closed. Why bang your eyes against it?
Itsuki stood looking at him, then said calmly but firmly:
- And what use is it to me that it's closed? I have a warrant. Open this fucking door.
The guard raised his eyebrows and looked at the detective with slight irritation.
- Why don't you fuck off, buddy. There are plenty of morgues, and you came here specifically to fuck with me?
Itsuki leaned closer to the glass and replied sharply:
- Is it really that hard for you to lift your ass and open the door? Old man, don't put on this circus, honestly.
The guard sighed, scratched his unshaven cheek, and replied without much enthusiasm:
- It's closed, that's all. I can't help you. They haven't paid me for this shithole for three weeks already, and still such scum come, and yesterday the police caught one necrophile here.
Itsuki moved a little closer and replied quietly, and with some irritation:
- I didn't recognize you or something.
- Stupid of you, I'm not interested in corpses, I just came on business.
Itsuki bent even closer, almost right up to the glass, and said quietly but weightily:
- You're sitting here on your ass... and you expect me to go away. No way. Let's go in together, it'll be more convincing. And you won't suffer, old man.
The guard stared at him for a long time, then sighed heavily, took a bunch of keys, and reluctantly got up.
- Fine... There are flies all around, and it stinks really badly.
Itsuki smiled slightly with the corner of his mouth.
- I'm used to the stench. Don't worry.
They walked down the long corridor. The guard opened the heavy metal door. Inside the morgue stood a thick, sweetish smell of decomposition. Rows of metal autopsy tables stretched along the walls, covered with white sheets. On some lay bodies hidden under the fabric.
Itsuki walked behind, looking around.
- Have you been working here long, old man? he asked.
- Already seven years, no less, the guard replied, shuffling his feet. There are so many morgues in all of Japan, but it's to this one that the whole diaspora comes. I don't understand why.
- And how is it here? continued Itsuki. I hope not all sorts of idiots come.
The guard chuckled.
- In packs every day. Journalists, detectives, police... And some decrepit guard with a salary for a loaf of bread, they don't give a shit about him.
Itsuki sighed as he walked beside him.
- It's not easy to live with such a burden. You should retire, old man.
- Yeah, next year I'm getting out of here anyway, the guard nodded. There's nothing to do here, it's empty. I'll move to central Tokyo, there are relatives and everything else there.
- A reasonable decision, Itsuki said quietly.
They approached one of the tables in the far corner. The guard pulled back the sheet. On the cold metal table lay the body of the girl Nara Asaki. One arm was neatly chopped off.
Itsuki looked at her for a long time, then leaned closer.
- The cut is even... he muttered. You can't do that with an axe. With a kitchen knife either. A katana, also not it. Then what is it?
The guard stood nearby, calmly looking at the body.
- A cleaver, most likely. Sharp. Chinese, possibly.
Itsuki replied quietly:
- You think?
The guard replied next:
- What's there to think, that's how it is.
Itsuki nodded, took several photos on his phone, filled out the documents, and handed them to the guard.
- Sign.
The guard signed and returned the papers.
- Well, that's it, time to go home, he said tiredly.
Itsuki nodded.
- Yes, let's go. Goodbye. And thank you for letting me in, old man. Without you they would have kicked me out of the office somewhere far away.
The guard simply nodded in response.
Itsuki left the morgue, got into the car, and slowly drove away, and Itsuki understood that violence exists, was, and will always be.
The headquarters looked strict and official. At the main entrance, on a tall flagpole, the Japanese flag quietly fluttered, a red circle on a white background. The morning was soft, but the approaching summer heat was already felt. Sunlight fell on the inner courtyard, creating long, calm shadows from the trees and benches. The courtyard was almost empty, only a couple of employees in uniform slowly walked along the path, talking in low voices.
Itsuki entered slowly, as if not wanting to disturb this quiet atmosphere. His footsteps echoed in the wide corridor. The building seemed half-empty. Many employees had already left on business or were on vacation. He walked down the long corridor on the second floor and stopped at the door with the number 16.
The office was empty. Takamura, his colleague and frequent partner, had left for Seoul a week ago on an urgent case. Itsuki entered, closed the door behind him, and looked around. Neat stacks of documents lay on the table, the monitor was turned off, and a light smell of coffee and paper hung in the air.
He approached the table, put down the folder, and turned on the electric kettle. While the water was boiling, Itsuki sat in the chair in the middle of the office, leaned back, and closed his eyes for a few seconds. Then he poured himself some coffee, added sugar, and began to go through the fresh documents.
The folder contained materials on several cases. One of them especially caught his attention.
Suspects in the case of the murder of Nara Asaki and other victims:
- Several men (identities not yet established)
- An adult woman (not identified)
- Three girls: Chon Mina, Oota Saki, Kaoru Mizuno.
Itsuki looked at the photographs of the three girls for a long time. Young, beautiful, looking like completely ordinary high school girls. He turned the page and saw the official conclusion:
«Charges partially dropped due to lack of sufficient evidence. The case is closed due to insufficient proof.»
Itsuki sighed heavily, leaned back in his chair, and took a sip of coffee.
At that moment, the office door opened. Sua entered, Takamura's partner, a tall, slightly thin guy with dark brown hair.
- Ohh, Itsuki came? Sua said in surprise, putting a box with things on the neighboring table. And I thought you wouldn't show up today.
Itsuki nodded toward the folder.
- Yeah, here... looking. They dropped the charges against the girls. Closed the case completely.
Sua chuckled, starting to pack Takamura's remaining things into the box.
- They were quick. I thought they'd at least dig for a month.
Itsuki took a sip of coffee and asked:
- I'm curious, who are they anyway? Authorities or something? Or just lucky?
Sua shrugged, folding the folders.
- I'm not particularly in the know. The police handled it. They say airtight alibis. Grandmother, party, train ticket... Everything matched. Or maybe pressure from above. You know how it happens.
Itsuki nodded, looking out the window.
- Brutal, of course. They justify people not by days, but by hours.
Sua smirked, closing the box.
- Itsuki, be so kind, when you leave, lock the office. I'm in a hurry, leaving for Seoul this evening. Takamura is already waiting there.
Itsuki nodded.
- Good. Good luck.
Sua took the box and headed for the door, but stopped.
- Itsuki... repetition is the mother of learning? Or what? I told you, lock the door when you leave. Don't forget.
Itsuki smiled slightly.
- I won't forget. Have a safe trip.
Sua nodded and left. The door closed quietly.
Itsuki remained alone. He looked again at the photographs of the three girls, took a sip of coffee, and turned to the window. A soft summer day, a light breeze stirred the leaves of the trees in the courtyard. Everything looked calm and peaceful.
But inside Itsuki there was a heavy, unpleasant feeling.
He finished his coffee, stood up, and slowly walked to the window. He looked at the courtyard of the headquarters for a long time.
- Interesting... he said quietly to himself. Who are you really... not ordinary losers.
The sun continued to softly illuminate the office. Birds sang outside the window.