Chapter Text
If Ron was really honest with himself-- not like he had anything to lie about in the first place-- he'd never been particularly interested in shrines. Or the Shinto religion as a whole. Any religion, really. Probably because he'd grown up in a country where Christianity was the norm, but that was a flaccid excuse as well. Cultures differ, he'd knew that as well as the back of his own hand, given that he'd spent most of his formulative years in both England and Tokyo. Being able to genuinely pray from the bottom of his heart was a foreign concept-- he wished for things, yes, as does everyone, but here was no need for an omniscient being to grant him those. Most of them were well-- within his reach and as such, instead of wasting time with visits to holy places, Ron would work towards his set goals. His visits were either a formality or when his friends would seek blessings from the divine.
Right now, looking up at the stairs that led to the toori gate, Ron hesitated. Did he really want to do this, based off a petty whim and words from a man who cut open corpses for fun? Now that he'd actually walked up to the precipice, he was too afraid to take the leap across.
That was the problem. It was easy. Supposed to be easy. One foot in front of the other, like always.
That begs the question, why? Why stall visiting a building where people simply rang the bell and clapped their hands together, wishing for something that may or may not be granted by the tides of fate? So much uncertainty with no concrete way forward.
As he stood there contemplating, a group of people passed by, one of many, their meaningless words slumbering along the wind, lost among the countless breaths. Turning back to leave-- Ron had officially lost his nerve for no good reason-- he did a double take when deceitful eyes such they were, caught wind of a familiar mop of hair that made his heart race, equally thrilled as that day in that train station. Then, seconds passed where he eventually lost track of it in the crowd, and only then did his rationale acted up. Useless, utterly useless-- it was the wrong shade, wrong size, wrong height, wrong, wrong, wrong--Even now, after all this time—
Wait.
Wait, how long had it actually been?
Ron was suddenly hunched over, hands tightening over his knees, striving to comprehend the sharp realization that had struck him like a bolt of thunder. How long?
I lost track of time.
Struggling under the weight of his own failure, Ron almost crumpled then and there. Does that mean I'm starting to forget?
With tremendous effort, he forced some semblance of calm back into his posture. Straightening and running a hand through tangled, endlessly messy locks, Ron finally moved, leaving behind the shrine. Enough. Enough of that for one day. Devotion or not, it could wait.
Get a grip, Kamonohashi.
“Kamonohashi, you look like you got punched twice.”
At the Otsu station, Hirsch, who had been checking his watch, looked up at him, intending to tear into him for being half a minute late, when the irritation melted into what seemed to be worry. The idea was so out of pocket that Ron nearly laughed out loud. More likely, it was simply annoyance—he was misreading expressions now. Great.
“Forget that. Where’s the clinic that Amamiya-san mentioned?”
Huffing, Hirsch began walking off, forcing the other to run after him. As they moved, he noted the people passing by hurriedly, shooting nervous looks over their shoulder. The murders have them shaken, Ron filed away their reactions in the back of his mind, they’re all on high alert.
After half an hour of walking, they arrived at a small, unassuming clinic in the quiet neighbourhood. The sign read, “Toyama Clinic.” Pushing open the glass doors, they entered, the reception area was buzzing with a frantic energy, two people waiting on the steel chairs; one, a woman who was nervously biting her thumb, shaking her leg, and the second, a small, frail man with circular glasses who was looking down at his shoes, not making eye contact. The receptionist was nowhere to be seen.
Not a lot of staff around here…And it’s barely passing the bare minimum required to be a functional clinic.
So, while waiting for them—the two of them couldn’t exactly barge into a doctor’s office—they decided to ask the patients about the news.
The woman fraught her hands as she spoke. “It’s-It’s so awful! The last one occurred just a few houses down my own, and now my husband is refusing to let me go out alone! But it couldn’t have been the work of a man—no human could have done this! It’s definitely an Ōmukade, I tell you!”
Ron frowned at this. Ōmukade? The yokai?
On the other side, Hirsch was talking to the frail man. “Truly tragic…. People are scared for their lives, and so am I. No sir, I refuse to leave the house after evening, who knows what the night brings? Reckless people like these….. they neglected to remember their history, and look where it got them. The Ōmukade are no joke, I tell you.”
Kamonohashi and Hirsch exchanged a look. The Ōmukade, a kind of Japanese yokai, was believed to be a huge monstrous centipede that ate human flesh. Its bite was fatally venomous, though it was weak to human saliva. For a myth to swirl in with the gruesome murders….
“Folklore,” Hirsch said, scowling, “is simply a crutch people lean on when they want to wilfully blind themselves to the answer. That a human is capable of such atrocities.”
The other said nothing, deep in thought. The fear of the supernatural provides both a cover and far easier access for the culprit… While committing the murders out of nowhere, they actively made use of the legend.
A harried-looking stubby woman hurried out of the inner rooms, her gaze flickering between the two detectives and the patients who relaxed a little upon seeing her. She gestured for the woman to go first, then turned to Hirsch and Kamonohashi.
“Could you wait until the check-ups are over? These are our last two patients.”
The older man clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Time’s ticking! People are out there getting killed, and you want us to wait?”
The receptionist winced, a pained look crossing her face. “I understand… I suppose Hino-san will have to wait a little more in that case.” She looked at the other man, who sighed and slumped in defeat.
Well, the doctor certainly knew how to get a point across.
After the woman came out, clutching her prescription, the two detectives were allowed in. Dr. Toyoma was a willowy man in his thirties, with an alarming ratio of white to black on his head. He gestured for them to take a seat, steepling his fingers as they did so. Heaving a long-suffering sigh, the doctor’s shoulders dropped.
“I understand that you’re with… the police?” His eyes raked over them—both eccentric men with strange hairstyles, with one looking homeless and the other like he had come out of a punk rave.
“Consultants,” Ron corrected, while Hirsch pulled out the file and pushed it towards Toyama.
“The victims all had come to this clinic atleast once for check-ups. That makes you a common witness, Doctor.” The older man fixed his glasses, not breaking eye contact. “Any information that you have could save a life.”
Toyama messaged his temples, leaning slightly forward. “Yes. I had seen them. Confidentially prevents me from saying much more on the matter.”
“We have a warrant in the process,” Hirsch cut in, lying smoothly. “First, we need all the files you have on the deceased.”
The doctor regarded them suspiciously for a few moments, before relenting and reaching into the drawer, pulling out five different folders. He handed it to Ron, who quickly flipping through them. Glancing discreetly at Hirsch, he pointed at one line: Stage III-IV HIV, for all of them. The latter frowned, a miniscule gesture.
Hm. Ron closed the files and gave them back to Toyama, who set them aside on the desk.
“Well? Are you satisfied? These were the only things that I had on them. Whatever else they did in their free time, I don’t know.”
Looking around the room, Ron tried to see if he could find anything else. There has to be something, he thought. Medical charts hung from the walls, a stretcher in one corner and a few equipment here and there. A floating bookshelf was directly behind Toyoma, filled with copies on various medical practices. Along with those, several framed photos sat as well—him with his family, colleagues and what seemed to be a…fundraiser? The dark-haired man pointed at the photo.
“What’s going on in there?”
Toyama twisted in his seat, peering up. He squinted and then replied, “That was a volunteer program at the clinic months ago. I fail to see how this is relevant to our current situation.”
“How many people volunteered?” Ron asked, ignoring the other’s remarks.
Toyama scowled, but complied. “Three. Two of them were college students doing it for college credit, while the other was staying here temporarily and decided to help out just because. “
“Mind if I take a closer look?”
“Suit yourself. But I can’t get it—It’s too high for me. One of the volunteers put it up there.”
“In that case, could I have their names?”
“What’re you playing at?” Hirsch questioned, as they left the clinic. Toyama had handed out the names; currently they were trying to find out the third person. The doctor had given the addresses of the former students, and upon checking their backgrounds, there was nothing out of the ordinary for them. That only left the last volunteer, who had written down a temporary address near the outskirts of the city, because they had left behind a false name.
Over there, in an old housing, they got the number of the volunteer, which lead to finally getting a concrete name—Tanigawa Shinji. Searching around, they found out that Tanigawa worked for someone, a woman named Kamei Ami.
“Tanigawa-kun? He’s such a sweet young man! Doesn’t come by much, him and that other assistant are always so busy with work. I’ve heard Kamei-san is rather strict...”
“Would you happen to know where they normally work at?”
“Oh, that would be Yabasekihan Island. Bit of a journey coming all the way over here, so they keep to themselves most of the time.”
Hitching a boatride, the detectives found themselves on the island floating on the Biwa Lake. If they followed the directions given by the local policeman, then…..
The two of them arrived at an isolated mansion on the outskirts of the township, belonging to someone named Oshima. Lovely. Ringing the bell, they waited. After a while, with the buzzing cicadas grinding deep into Ron’s skull, the gates opened, a middle-aged man peering out.
“Business?”
Oh wow, they even had security. “We need to speak with Tanigawa Shinji. We know that he works here, under a Kamei Ami.” Ron said. He assessed the man—in his early forties, tension clear in every line of his body.
“Oshima-san doesn’t allow random visitors. I’ll need to confirm with-“
“There’s no need for that.” Hirsch stepped forward, flashing his badge. The guard took it in, a weary look crossing his face. “We need to speak to these two right now. This isn’t a social call. It’s about the recent deaths in Shiga. I’m sure your master would like to prevent further…unpleasantries.”
The threat was clear. After a few more seconds of wrestling with himself, the guard relented, opening the gate an inch further. “Fine. Just…let me inform Oshima-san first.”
He retreated inside, not giving the detectives a chance to reply. Alone, Ron looked around. There was nothing but trees surrounding the yashiki, so it was well and truly out of the common path. “I wonder why Kamei-san wasn’t asked already…” Absent minded musing, he looked up at the sky. A flock of birds flew across, blots of black against the sun.
“Because she’s being funded by Oshima,” Hirsch answered, pulling out his scalpel and cleaning it with a piece of soft cloth. “She’s a private researcher. Difficult to get hold of.”
The guard returned after a few minutes, with a scowl as he begrudgingly opened the gate to let them in. Permission acquired, then.
Normally, in a place like this, Ron had expected the gardens to be sprawling across several acres, and they did not disappoint. Green greeted the eye as far as it could see, trees bracketing the sky overhead with their foliage. Butterflies fluttered around, the fragrant taste of flowers—too many to identify—filling the air, dancing alongside the soft breeze, a rich feast for the senses. Besides, the butterflies, various kinds of insects milled around; Ron counted atleast five beetles in one corner, some sucking on the sap of the trees, while millipedes marched through the blades of grass, almost getting squashed under his shoe. The path leading to the house was inlaid with weathered stones, and soon enough, the building itself came into sight. Once they reached the main door, the two detectives exchanged a look, before knocking twice. A few seconds later, the door was answered by a harried-looking maid, her hair slightly messy as she took in the sight of the two detectives.
“Please, come in,” She gestured, sliding the door open more fully and gesturing inside, “Oshima-san would like to talk to you.”
The interior was as expected—traditional, with various medical diagrams and detailed sculptures decorating the walls of the hallway. Oshima was sitting in the living room, legs perfectly folded under him with cups of tea and crackers already laid out on the table. Aged, yet sharp, he gestured for them to take a seat opposite the low table. Stiffly sitting down, a bout of awkward silence descended. Oshima took his time, finishing half his cup, while Hirsch impatiently shifted and Ron looked around the room.
It was sparsely, but tastefully adorned. A vase of red poppies sat innocently, moving slightly in the light breeze through the window, beside a maneki-neko—automated by the way the raised paw would slowly move to and fro. Books were organised in small piles, half their spines straight, the other half creased, on the tatami. Curtains swished easily, thin fabric letting in the noonday sun, the along the tinkling of the windchimes. From the faded teal walls, pictures hung, which Ron presumed to be of Oshima’s family.
“So, “Oshima started, setting down his cup after he was done with it. Taking in the untouched snacks and tea, Hirsch’s murderous expression contrasted with Ron’s neutral one, he continued, “you’re the detectives working on the murders? What brings you to my doorstep? I’m fairly certain the killings have occurred far out of reach.”
Hirsch opened his mouth to speak, but Ron beat him to it. The other shot him a dirty look, which he promptly ignored.
“We have reason to believe that one of your researchers had visited the clinic where the victims went, “Ron explained, disliking the way the old man looked at the two of them, like he couldn’t be bothered to care about people dying.
“But aren't these murders the work of the Ōmukade?"
Ron paused. "What makes you say so?"
"It's obvious, isn't it?! The way those people have been killed-- torn apart to pieces! The Ōmukade eats people! What else could it be? If it was to be a human, wouldn't they have left behind traces? The papers didn't mention anything like that! You officers just want to arrest someone to prove that you’re not as incompetent as you look!"
Oshima believes in the supernatural...No wonder he doesn't want to let us in, he's convinced of his researchers' innocence.
“As we’re questioning everyone involved, we would like to talk to Tanigawa-san once. If he’s truly innocent, then everything should be fine, right?” He finally said.
Staring at him with an unreadable expression, Oshima pretended to ponder the question for a while. But the answer was already clear in the minute tightening of his shoulders, furrow between his brows and tension in his jaws. “Fine,” he conceded, shaking his head, “do your useless business and get out of my hair as soon as possible.”
Rolling his eyes, Hirsch stood up, straightening his coat, taking off with a sharp nod directed towards Oshima, not bothering to wait for Ron to catch up. The same maid from before was drying clothes outside, and upon seeing her, Hirsch shouted out, “Hey you! Where’s Kamei’s research lab?”
She squeaked, nearly dropping the clothes. “K-Kamei-san’s workshop? It’s in the backyard….”
“Please don’t be so loud,” A voice interrupted from behind. Carrying a tray laden with food, a young man with glasses walked by them, disinterestedly glancing at them once with ebony eyes. “Not everyone appreciates being investigated over delusions.” He disappeared up the stairs, wood creaking beneath the slippers.
“So Oshima’s got a brat too…Note that down, Kamonohashi. He’s also a suspect.”
Across the courtyard, a young woman stood, likely near Maid-chan's age, holding a camera. Positioning it carefully in front of her face, the distant sound of the shutter clicking sounded through the space. In front of her, a blue-patterned butterfly fluttered away, scales glimmering in the sunlight when looked too closely.
Was that Oshima-san's kid too? Ron wondered as he and Hirsch made their way over to the laboratory.
********
The laboratory was nothing special, really-- just an unremarkable white building which could have been passed off as a well-kept garden shed, if not for the size. A thin trail of smoke curved outwards from an open window, sounds of a fan whirring from within. The door was open as they approached it, and the first person they saw was a woman sitting off to the side, reading the paper. She looked up at the sudden intrusion, frowning.
"Kamei Ami?" Hirsch asked directly.
"Who's asking?" She was a middle-aged woman, with her hair tied up tightly and neatly in a bun, bright red lipstick and a pair of glasses resting on her nose. Studying the pair of detectives, her expression hardened. "State your business."
Holding up his badge, Ron started to speak before Hirsch cut him off. "We need to speak to your assistant, Tanigawa Shinji. Is he here?"
"Tanigawa?", Kamei echoed, surprised. She'd expected herself to be interrogated, not her assistant. "He's currently collecting samples. Give him a few minutes."
"We don't have--"
"It's a delicate process, something you wouldn't understand. If you really need to talk to him, you can and you will wait."
While Hirsch was busy glaring at Kamei, Ron glanced at the table. There were several types of devices, scales and of that kind, with a stack of folders and papers with rushed on writing. Several medical charts dominated the walls, annotated with red markers. Shelves sat quietly, zoology and biological books taking up most of the space, alongside jars of embalmed butterflies, centipedes, and beetles. Distant sounds of someone working behind the doors could be heard.
An entomologist…. Shells of the beetles were gathered in a box, along with a few clipped butterfly wings. Did they cultivate the insects here specifically for their studies?
Minutes passed by. Talking to Kamei revealed nothing, hence she had returned to her paper, solving a crossword puzzle. Ron was checking out the jars, itching to reach out and read one of those books. Hirsch had taken to examining the charts.
It was exactly seven and a half minutes later that they heard the crash.
Being the first one to rush in, the jagged edge of a glass nearly took Ron’s eye off. He barely dodged it, only to be greeted with the sight of Tanigawa—a man in his mid-twenties with mouse-brown hair, that he assumed to be Tanigawa—lying crumpled on the ground, eyes rolled back in his head, mouth covered with a mask, froth seeping through the thin fabric, fingers spasming. Immediately dropping to his knees, Hirsch checked his pulse.
“He’s still alive, “He stated, “but needs—”
“I’m on it.” Kamei had already dialled the authorities and ambulance. Amidst the fuss, a slight movement caught Ron’s eye. A butterfly, like the ones he’d observed in the gardens, fluttered around worriedly near the ceiling. How’d that get in here? He was sure that all the butterflies inside were dead or pinned, not—
His eyes fell on the ventilation shaft, high, high above, covered with a fan. Then they snapped back to the butterfly tucking away the details; what had caught the attention is the colour. It was black and red, wings tucked as it settled in the corner, far away from any commotion.
Ron squinted, something feeling off about it. Then it struck him—it wasn’t even a butterfly! The wingspan was different, the body as well. Butterflies didn’t usually have red and black wings, did they?
He’ll look into it later; for now, Tanigawa’s life took priority. He had fallen straight into an artificial habitat for centipedes. Dozens of insects crawled across the floor, accidentally getting crushed under the shoes. They had climbed up and across the limp body, thankfully most hadn’t crept straight into the open cavities. Some attempted to slink up his trousers, but Ron stomped them off.
How’d Tanigawa managed to crash into the tank anyways? It was placed on the other side of the room, on a secure desk.
So, they do study centipedes here…
The cause of injury was determined to be a small cut near the neck, which had gotten infected somehow.
“Tanigawa had a rare condition,” Kamei clarified, taking a drag of her cigar in the courtyard, speaking to Ron and Hirsch while the other Tanigawa was loaded onto a stretcher and into the ambulance. “He was immunocompromised, you see. Often, the boy would fall ill, and as a result, he had taken to wearing a mask and gloves at all times to decrease the chances of infection. It’s no surprise that such a small cut could have killed him.”
“Did anyone else know about his illness?” Hirsch asked. He had crossed his arms, tapping the flat of the scalpel rhythmically against the arm.
Exhaling a ring of smoke, Kamei nodded. “Everyone in the household does.”
Everyone… Ron looked over at the other side of the courtyard at the house, where Oshima and his family were, the maid worriedly peeking out to look at the ambulance. Except for the young man, no one else had come out to investigate the cause of the ruckus. Over the loud buzzing of the ambulance, most of the insects that populated these areas, had fled far away.
“Speaking of insects,” Toto said, reaching out towards a rotten leaf, browned and ready to drop, “did you figure out what kind of a moth it was?”
Red-black moths, being an unusual sight here, could be discerned upon a closer look. But would it still be there if Ron went back now? You could never know unless you try.
True to his luck, the moth was no longer inside the room when Ron checked. Must have flown back out, he assumed. This time, he noticed the ventilation fan working, blades spinning. What’s up with that? It was shut before but now when no one is using the laboratory, it’s running?
“Looking for this?”
Ron turned around. Holding a glass jar in which the moth limply laid, Hirsch lifted it up so that the other could get a better look. “It’s a Zygaenida moth. Commonly known as a burnet moth.” Walking inside, he set it down on the desk, where papers had been pushed aside. “The red is meant to warn predators, and they release hydrogen cyanide in defense.”
Peering into the glass, Ron looked at the moth. Yes, it indeed was a brunet moth, particularly the six spotted one. “If this was the reason that Tanigawa collapsed, then it could be a freak accident,” he murmured to himself, not believing it.
There is no thing as coincidence in a detective’s vocabulary. Was Tanigawa simply a victim of circumstances, or was someone trying to silence him?
Now that the laboratory was relatively empty, there was a better chance to look around. The scattered centipedes, which had manged to survive, were deposited in their temporary habitat, a smaller glass case set on the corner of the desk. As he was looking up at the shelves, Ron’s foot brushed against something—a small stepstool peeked out from under the desk. The floor was still squirmy from the crushed bugs, but there was a skid mark visible.
“It makes sense, doesn’t it?” Toto said, studying it. “Kamei-san isn’t that tall and some of these shelves are awfully high.”
Probably.
Hearing the sound of pages flipping behind him, Ron looked over his shoulder. Hirsch was going through the notebooks, not caring about the fact that he was likely violating privacy laws. If it got the case solved, lax lawful restrictions were allowed, right...?
"They've been extracting centipede venom here," Hirsch clarified, "But all the samples have been used in making medicine. There's no procedure for the poison that's been affecting the victims."
“So, they’re making traditional painkillers?” Ron asked, opening a cabinet. Nothing useful.
“Apparently.” After fiddling around a little more with no luck, Hirsch stepped back. “There’s nothing of worth here.”
“It’s interesting, isn’t it?” Toto remarked, as they made their way out of the laboratory. “No clues to point us in the right direction. Maybe the murderer isn’t here at all. Maybe someone, somewhere else is harvesting it.”
That couldn’t be possible, though, could it?
“I don’t know anything! Please, you have to believe me!”
Maid-chan panickily cried out, her eyes wobbling with tears. “I just work here! I barely talked to Tanigawa-san! I swear, I don’t know anything!”
Exchanging an uncomfortable look with the doctor, Ron wondered how exactly to question a woman who was hysterical. Tackling this kind of thing required tact, which he wasn’t exactly known for. What would be the proper way… He didn’t want to scare her off.
“You need to make yourself seem less intimidating,” Toto advised, hands clasped behind his back as he leaned forward, bangs falling infront of his face, “Maybe crouch down? It’d be easier to talk then. And remember, don’t be mean!”
“Miss,” Ron tried, getting down on one knee. Terrified brown eyes looked at him, shimmering with unshed tears and he felt slightly out of his depth. What would Toto say to comfort her? “I understand that this is a stressful situation in. To be accused of something you didn’t do. Anything that you remember would help us. It will also clear your name.”
“I—” She hiccupped, forcing herself to calm down. “The only thing I know-hic- is that Kamei-san and Tanigawa-san only -hic- ever left the lab for meal-hic- times! No one ever interacted -hic-with them, least -hic-of all me!”
“Really? How long have you been working here?”
“About-hic-nine months. Hic-The others were -hic- here before me, so -hic- I can’t say for sure how long -hic- they’re been here…. Tanigawa-san -hic- mentioned that it had been-hic- one year for him, though.”
Nine months and one year….
“I see.” Getting to his feet, Ron brushed his pants. “Thank you for informing me. You’re free to go now.”
Shakily bracing herself, Maid-chan sniffled, sucking in breaths to stop her hiccupping. As she started to move away, Ron offhandedly added, “If the hiccups aren’t going away, try swallowing a spoonful of sugar.”
She looked back, surprised.
Ostensibly, questioning Oshima seemed to go well. The old man answered in tight, clipped tones, never revealing more than required and sticking close to established facts. Yes, Tanigawa had started working a year prior. Yes, Kamei had been working for far longer before she decided to get an assistant. The centipede venom painkiller was made for his joint pains, because he “did not trust modern medicine and the chemicals they packaged in tiny capsules mass produced in factories”. If he had the money, why not? Kamei got her funding and lab; he got his sores taken care of.
After getting dismissed, they coincidentally found the other man that they had been planning to question; Oshima Ikeda, smoking outside, under the shade of tree, watching as the butterflies and moths fluttered around. He didn’t look back when Ron and Hirsch approached, the only sign of him acknowledging their presence being the tightening of his shoulders. Before they could put forth a question, Ikeda beat them to it.
"I don't understand," he said, taking a long drag, "Is Tanigawa's collapsing connected to the murders?"
"Why wouldn't it be?" Ron asked, crossing his arms.
"He's collapsed almost every week, one way or the other. Despite being chronically ill, Tanigawa forces himself to work."
Ron frowned. "Why does he do that?"
"Because he's brilliant," Hirsch answered, fixing his glasses. Ikeda eyed him warily. "Kamei pays him well enough for treatments."
"Yes, well. Painkillers are always appreciated."
"What about you?" Ron asked. "What reason do you have to stay here?"
Ikeda paused. He shook his cigar, letting the ashes fall in the ground before replying, "This is my family. Isn’t that reason enough?”
“A pair of detectives, huh?”
The camera lenses pointed directly at Ron. Kurata Chiyo lowered them just enough to show one sparkling blue eye. “How convenient.”
“Why’s that?”
“There’s a spree of killings going around, people locking themselves in fear of the Ōmukade, and just as someone collapses in this very remote and private property, two detectives happen to be here. Feels like a setup, doesn’t it?”
Holding his chin, Hirsch furrowed his brows. “She’s not exactly wrong. But in that case, it’s strange for you to be here too, isn’t it? This is a private property. If you’re not immediate family, what are you doing here? Oshima made it quite clear he doesn’t let in unnecessary people in.”
Click. A violet butterfly was perched on a budding flower.
“Yes, he does that. The only reason I’m allowed here is because I used to previously work for Kanmei-san.”
“Used to?”
“There were…certain disagreements between us. But a lot of my work went into these little fellows over here, so I find myself returning time to time. Truly, it’s a curse.”
Standing on the tip of her toes, Chiyo lifted the camera to get a proper shot. She’s quite tall, Ron noted absentmindedly, watching her reach up with ease. “What are your thoughts on the murders taking place?”
For a split second, she faltered, before righting herself. “I think,” Chiyo carefully started, “that people are far too gullible and miss out on the obvious more than they realise.”
That’s not really an answer, is it now?
“It’s strange,” Ron murmured to himself, trudging through the gardens, Hirsch sitting down on the porch, getting thoroughly annoyed at his constant pacing, “How does it add up?”
How would a moth, specifically a brunet moth, get Tanigawa? Wouldn’t it require someone who had knowledge of the automated vent? Surely, Kamei or Chiyo were suited for that? But what reason would they have to harm Tanigawa, since the blame would obviously fall on them? Oshima could barely walk around, Ikeda having to help him move all the time. Maid-chan’s distress was genuine; she was not a part of this.
Then there was the greater case: the murders spread around Shiga. How was it connected? Someone wanted Tanigawa out of the picture, but just how much of a threat was he? Or did he harm himself to take off suspicion off from himself?
Ron sometimes understood why Toto used to pull at his hair like a rabid dog.
“For God’s sake, Kamonohashi,” Hirsch barked out, finally having had enough of his frantic pacing, “If it’s troubling you so much, get out of here!”
Get out? Out, out, out…..
Oh.
Oh— Swiping his hair aside, an unconscious habit, Ron excitedly started, “That’s it!”
“Finally figured it out, did you?”
Looking back on it, there truly are some instances in which coincidence ends up being the biggest indicator of all.
It would have been easier to gather everyone in the living room, so that is exactly what they did—Oshima sat at the head of the small tea table, Ikeda to his right, Kanmei to his left, Chiyo beside Ikeda, and a little bit off towards the corner, Maid-chan stood, nervously fiddling with her skirt. The cook and other workers were pretending to mind their business, but it was pretty obvious that they were eavesdropping. Hirsch was no where to be seen, likely conducting his own search.
“As I’m sure everyone knows,” Ron began, “Tanigawa Shinji recently collapsed and had to be hospitalised.”
“Haven’t we been over this already?” Oshima grumbled. “It’s normal for him to faint! I don’t see why you need to assemble all of us here like suspects when it’s obvious that you’re simply trying to frame one of us and be done with your job!”
Defensive, isn’t he…
“What if,” he carefully said, watching the expressions on everyone’s faces, “Tanigawa didn’t faint, but was forced to?”
Oshima frowned, while Ikeda remained passive. Kamei cocked an eyebrow, Chiyo looking vaguely disturbed.
“Who would want to harm Tanigawa?” Ikeda asked. “Be mindful of what you say, detective-san. These are very serious accusations that you’re making.”
It would have been fine to immediately rebuke his words, but Ron unfortunately had a dramatic streak in him which demanded all these theatrics. Not to mention, pointing a finger without properly explaining anything was as good as shooting yourself in the foot.
“Of course, Ikeda-san. To start with, let us take into account Tanigawa’s episode. He was collecting samples alone in the lab, when he fainted. While we checking his pulse, there was a live burnet moth stuck inside. As I'm sure you'd know, these moths release hydrogen cyanide under duress."
"Are you saying that Tanigawa collapsed because of that? How did it get in and why would it target him specifically? " Kamei countered, nails clicking impatiently on the table.
"There's an automated vent fan in the room to let in air. It's kept on most of the time to prevent other insects from getting in, but there are certain periods where it's turned off. It's easy to direct a moth in through during those times. And if it's startled by the sudden roar of the fan, it will panic around-- flying erratically and landing in Tanigawa's path, mistaking him for a predator. In his haste to get it off, he likely slipped and fell, crashing into the tank of centipedes. Hence, the cut on his neck."
“Detective, do you hear yourself? This is all a hypothetical! Who on earth would go through all that to kill Tanigawa-kun?” Ikeda snapped.
“I never said they wanted to kill Tanigawa.”
Ikeda paused.
“He’s hospitalised right now, yes, but he’ll recover. It was just a ploy to make sure we couldn’t talk to him today, giving the perpetrator enough time to flee.” Ron looked over, gaze sharpening. “Isn’t that right, Kurata-san?”
“Eh?” She was taken aback, a severely confused look on her face. “Me?! Why would I attack Tanigawa-kun? What proof do you have?!”
“There’s a stepstool in the laboratory. Kamei-san doesn’t need it because she can reach the top shelves, which means that only Tanigawa-san uses it. The picture of the volunteers we saw back at the Toyama Clinic, only had one person tall enough to put it up as the doctor said. Coincidentally, they also wore a mask. But Tanigawa-san can’t reach the higher shelves. That leaves the question, who exactly was the volunteer at the clinic then? And why was it you, Kurata-san?”
While Ron spoke, the colour steadily drained from Kurata’s face. By the time he was done, she was looking down, her hands fisted tightly against her thighs, breathing laboured. “I-I still don’t—”
“There are medical records of Tanigawa staying in the hospital during the period of the fundraiser. The maid has already vouched for Kamei-san. It couldn’t have been Oshima-san or Ikeda-san either. That leaves only you, Kurata-san. The one who could successfully disguise themselves as Tanigawa Shinji.”
She stayed silent for a moment. “….It was just a favour,” Kurata quietly started, still not making eye contact, “Tanigawa-kun had helped me out numerous times before. As long as I helped people, what difference did it make who worked there? But… but then the murders started, and people started pointing fingers. If someone found out that instead of him, it was me there, surely, I would be blamed?! I can’t have that… My entire life is infront of me! To soil it with false accusations….” Finally, she looked up, eyes brimming with tears. “I’m not the killer, I promise.”
“It would make sense for her to be the killer,” Toto observed, standing beside Maid-chan, “She does have the required knowledge to turn the centipede venom into whatever it is now.”
“He didn’t say that,” Hirsch interjected, strolling into the room. A piece of worn paper was held in his hands. “The real killer behind the Shiga murders is here, but it isn’t Kurata.”
“Well then, spit it out!” Kamei angrily exclaimed, slapping her palm flat against the wooden surface. “Do you intend to hold all of us accountable for the actions of two?”
How impatient…. Ron mused, eyes drifting from the entomologist in front to the doctor next to him. And how dramatic.
Holding up the paper, Hirsch continued, “This is the reason people have been self-cannibalising themselves.”
A pause as everyone read the contents, faces dawning with horror. Kurata broke it first, pointing a trembling finger.
“W-what…?”
“The centipede venom that has been found in the victims indeed originates from this place. But while Kamei was using it to make painkillers, someone else was using it as poison. Centipede venom on its own is harmless to humans, yet this one was ridiculously effective in eliminating higher cognitive functions to the point where the people devolved to basic savages, tearing off their flesh to feed their hunger. This shows the core reason—a specific kind of virus was used alongside it, to mask its presence.” Hirsch fixed his glasses, scowling. “Care to explain what this was doing in your room, Oshima?”
Silence.
Every single eye was fixed on the pair. If you looked closely, you would immediately know who the killer was. Slowly, Oshima stood up, slicking up his hair.
“Well,” Ikeda said, passive as ever, “Since it’s come to this, I suppose there’s no point in denying it. Though, isn’t it illegal for you to search my room without a proper warrant? Surely that’s grounds for a lawsuit.”
“Careful boy,” Hirsch shot back, “I could stab out your eye right now and it would be considered as self defense. Don’t try anything.”
Scoffing, Ikeda crossed his arms. “Jeez, no need to pull out the big guns. You won’t need them.”
Oshima seemed to have finally have snapped out of his daze, because the next second he was pulling at the other’s arm, yelling furiously. “What is the meaning of this, Ikeda? I keep you fed and under my roof and this is what you go and do? Have you no remorse?!”
Instead of responding immediately, Ikeda stepped back, out of the old man’s reach, betraying no volatile emotion. He rubbed his arm, replying, “Acting all high and mighty now that your image is in danger, huh? How pathetic.”
“Ikeda—"
“I didn’t ask for you to take me in. You did that all on your own. Maybe you felt guilty about what happened to my father, maybe you just wanted to preserve your image. When the only reason that you’re alive is because my father is dead.”
Oshima blanched. “When—It wasn’t like that—”
“Was it not? When the loan sharks came, did you not throw your brother under the bus? All the wealth that you have right now is because you stole it. None of this belongs to you. My father got tortured to death and you have the audacity—” Ikeda’s glasses flashed, mouth twisting into a snarl, “—to say ‘it wasn’t like that’? A decent person would have hung themselves but it seems that you lack that too as well.”
The old man stared up, eyes wide with horror and mouth open, at a loss of words. Kamei and Kurata had inched themselves away, closer to the door incase things turned south.
"Were you the one who spread the rumors about the Omukade to agitate the people?" Hirsch interrupted.
"I never did anything of that sort. People believe what they want to believe."
“But why did you kill those people? If your target was your uncle here, why poison the innocents?”
“Innocents?” Ikeda laughed, a wheezing sound that seemed unnatural, close to a coughing fit if anything. “Who cares? They were going to die anyways; I did them a favour! Besides, when it comes to light that someone from Oshima Hiro’s house was the culprit, it would ruin him! What other reason would I need?”
“You’re mad,” Kurata said, horrified.
Hirsch scoffed. "You often visited the clinic for Oshima-san's checkups, didn't you? It would have been easy to simply drop by one day, taking advantage of the sparse staff to discreetly sneak in the vial of poison. It's similar to how vaccines look, so no one suspected a thing. It's likely that you put it in the HIV section, which is why the victims were all afflicted with the virus."
“But it’s not like I did the killing now, did I?” Ikeda countered, putting on an innocent face. “Surely the staff would be responsible for their carelessness. I wasn’t the one administering the poison, afterall.”
Kurata, if possible, went paler. “Are you saying that—"
“I’m not saying anything. It doesn’t change the fact that you were woefully incompetent to take over Tanigawa’s place. Who knows? ‘A wrong dose here and there, it’s not bad enough to kill someone’, you think. So, who do you think is the real killer?”
“Don’t turn this on her!” Kamei snapped. “You are the reason people are dead! Stop with the guilt-tripping!”
“Being blinded by your heart isn’t a good look on you, Kamei-san.”
“How did you get the poison?” Ron interrupted. It had been bugging him since the beginning—something as serious as that did not circulate easily in public. And it was detailed, too detailed for a simple product.
Ikeda hummed, casually reaching into his pockets. “I don’t remember,” he admitted, pulling out a switchblade. “Someone online asked me if I wanted it, and I agreed. What luck, huh? It ended turning the tables in my favour.”
Something like this, for free? How did it even make it online?
“Ikeda, put down the knife,” Oshima tried, shrinking back when the blade flicked towards him. “I understand that you’re angry, let us talk it out—”
“Yes, because “talking out” seventeen years of careful planning is such a spectacular way to go,” Ikeda retorted. He stepped backwards, away from everyone, feet careful, making his way through the porch. It took Ron a second too late to figure out what he planned to do. Already, his body was heavy from the effects of the meds suppressing the syndrome, words sticking in his throat.
“You really think doing that will absolve you of your crimes?!” Hirsch spat out. “What a coward!”
Raising the blade to his throat, Ikeda grinned. “As long as I fulfil my goals, I’m willing to do anything.”
“Wait—” Jumping over the desk, Hirsch rushed forward.
Ikeda moved his hand. Blade met skin, cold metal tearing through soft flesh, red blooming forth. He sputtered, blood leaking out of his mouth, before tumbling and falling backwards. Red droplets splattered across the folding screen, his body twitching. Rattling gasps escaped him as his body fought instinctively to survive before convulsing one last time, going still. The knife had slipped from Ikeda’s grasp, lying beside him over the growing pool of blood. Reflected in the thick liquid, a butterfly fluttered close, curious. The smell of copper was getting overwhelming.
Kamei hadn’t moved, shell-shocked. Kurata had looked away, eyes squeezed tightly even as tears leaked out the corners, lip wobbling. Sinking to her knees and sobbing into her hands, Maid-chan gently rocked herself to and fro. Huddled in the corner, Oshima had his head bowed, muttering prayers under his breath. Fingers that had been inches away from grabbing Ikeda curled into a fist, Hirsch’s brows knitted together in half anger, half distress.
“He really did it,” Toto said, sounding sad, so sad, “He killed himself for vengeance.” Crouching down beside Ron, he tilted his head. “It’s the same as the ski lodge, isn’t it? Hosino-san killed for revenge too. Makes you wonder—is it worth it? Could it be justice in the way the law can’t deliver?”
Was it?
In both cases, the culprits had their lives ruined. It was natural to seek revenge in that case, wasn’t it? To make the other party feel a tinge of despair that they inflicted upon you. A killer should end end it off by killing themselves, too then, right? In that, they’d have established their goals. But what about the people who were killed due to one person’s plan? What about the people who would carry this burden for the rest of their lives?
But then again, what about the original victim who never received justice?
Someone grabbed his collar. Oshima was glaring at him with so much vitriol that Ron was surprised there wasn’t a hole through his head.
“Aren’t you supposed to prevent things like this? How could you let him die?!”
Taken aback, Ron stumbled over what to say. He’s blaming us?
“If what Ikeda said was true,” The doctor coldly cut in, grabbing Oshima by the shirt and pulling him off, “Then you’re the root cause for this.”
“Me?! Your incompetence caused all this, and instead of taking responsibility, you’re blaming me?”
“I suggest you think your words over, because whatever you say will go on record. You got the culprit’s parent killed due to your greed, which resulted in this tragedy today. The police are already on their way. You’re not angry that your nephew is dead, you’re angry because he was right—your public image has been tainted. And to act the part of a grieving guardian you attack my assistant. Step back, Oshima. This is the only time I’m going to say this.”
For a moment, the old man genuinely looked like he was about to strangle the doctor then and there. Then, his shoulders slumped and he groaned. “This is too much for an old man like me to bear…. I tried to make up for it, didn’t I?! Took care of that bastard’s kid and this is what I get…Unbelieveable…”
“How can you be so callous?!” Maid-chan burst out. “Ikeda-san was kind! He was so kind to me and others!”
“Then you just fell for his act, didn’t you?” Kurata said, shakily getting to her feet. “He was nice to me as well. That doesn’t exempt him from his actions, nor make me any less careless. Mio-chan, let me help you up.”
Kamei leaned against the wall, sighing. “Well, there goes my work. I suppose I’ll have to look elsewhere for employment now, huh…”
How apathetic, Ron noted, straightening his jacket. But I suppose there isn’t much to be done now. What a mess.
Evening found him perched near the lake, feet dangling over the wooden dock. The sun was setting in the horizon, shadowed buildings in front of the red orb. Since the original perpetrator was deceased, the blame would likely fall on the clinic itself. Rough days ahead for Toyama, Ron mused. Unscrewing a fresh sachet whilst staring onto reflecting water, Ron heard footsteps.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” He asked, as they came to a stop behind him.
Hirsch sighed. “No,” he begrudgingly admitted, “There’s no proper source from where for the virus came from. It’s strange… I’ve never seen anything like it.” He pulled out the piece of paper, looking through it again. “Such components could only be known by someone who was proficient in their field. There would be an author’s name here—” He pointed at the edge of the paper, which was torn away, “—but someone either didn’t want it to be found out or it was like this from the beginning.”
“Weird. Don’t people normally attach their names to things that they invent?”
“Don’t make me laugh.” Hirsch scoffed, folding the paper back. “What part of this case has seemed ‘normal’ to you, Kamonohashi?”
Oh, we’re doing that again. “Fair point.”
“The last boat leaves in ten minutes. If you plan on staying here, atleast let the chief know. She’ll drive me mad when I don’t show up with you in a tow.” Saying so, the doctor walked away, boarding said boat.
“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Toto remarked, “How cruel humans can be. Up to the point where they would force others to suffer to make a point. I’ve never understood it.”
Tilting his head back, Ron looked up at the sky one last time. “If this keeps up,” he muttered to no one in particular, “they’re gonna revoke my license.” Nevermind that he had already lost it.
Groaning, Ron got to his feet, heading into the boat waiting for him.