刑事さんと杜撰男子
[Keiji san to Zusan Danshi]
By Bayou
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Part 1
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It was a cold and gloomy winter night. The young man didn't have to check his watch to look at the time; he knew it was already passed midnight.
The last train had stopped running, and he was too broke to ride a cab. He went to a friend's apartment nearby, but he had already moved. And worse, his cell phone battery had just dried out, right at the moment he wanted to call someone to pick him up.
So he was thinking of sleeping in the park bench for a while until the first train started running. But it seemed the weather didn't agree with him. It was already in the middle of December, and it was snowing a little, if he slept in the park with only jacket he wore, he'd definitely be in the hospital the very next day for having pneumonia, or even worse, he'd end up in a morgue.
Well, perhaps a fire from the homeless men in the park can help a little, he thought.
Though the young man had a handsome face, it was covered by his damp, messy hairstyle—which was looked like it hadn't been washed for a week, and his jacket and jeans were worn of and tattered in some parts, since he didn't bother to treat himself to buy a new ones until the ones he wore were literally torn into pieces. Well, he did look like a bum, so other bums might have a pity at him and let him to warm himself with them.
So he went to the park and saw the light from a fire that came from woods burned in a drum, surrounded by homeless men and women with their removable cardboard houses or tents.
It looks warm, he thought, rubbing his palms together to warm it up.
He put his hands into his jacket's pocket and walked faster in the direction of them, before he heard a faint whizzing sound that came from behind the trees. He halted and sharpened his hearing. He was almost sure that it came from a gun silencer, which he often heard in movies. He shrugged it off since he thought it was impossible, and started walking again before he heard the bushes rustling, cracking twigs that had been stepped on, and a man in an overcoat bumped him as he walked hurriedly out from the bushes.
The bump knocked both of them a few steps back and he caught a glimpse of the man's face. He was around his thirties, slim faced, slanted eyes, thin eyebrow, pointy nose and chin, bucktoothed—well, overall he looked exactly like a fox. The man's eyes widened in surprise as he quickly draw—as what the young man saw was—a gun, with a silencer, from a holster inside his coat. Before the fox-faced man managed to pull it out, the young man screamed as loud as he could to draw attentions; "HELP!! THERE'S A MURDERER!!! HELP!!!"
The scream managed to draw the homeless' attentions, they turned their heads and started to gather themselves and walked toward the source of the scream.
The fox man clicked his tongue irritated, and turned his back before he dashed off from there.
"What? What happened?"
The bums started to questioning the young man who was—at that time—had shifted his sight from the running man and gazing at the bushes where a bloodied hand were poking from beneath it.
And screams broke into the air of that cold December night.
"Excuse me. Excuse me."
A detective was shoving his way into the crowded audience who was curious of the crime scene. A crowd of people—mostly homeless men and women—were surrounding the crime scene; a small woods in the park, where the police line had been spread around it to clear the scene from curious people. Still, people were gathered outside the police line and poking their heads over the ones in front of them to get a clear look. The detective had to open his way through the crowds with shouldering the gaps between men and women while excusing himself before he reached the police line, showing his badge to the guarding officers, and entered the crime scene.
The body had been retrieved and put into a black body bag and placed onto a stretcher. He stopped the paramedic and zipped off a part of the body bag to examine the victim. He winched as he saw a pale young woman's face, with her eyes open and stared into nothingness. He closed the woman's eyes before zipped the bag up and let the paramedic shoved the stretcher into the ambulance. The siren started blaring as it drove off of there.
"Where's the witness?" the detective asked one of the crime scene investigator who was scribbling something on his writing board. He was informed that they got a witness that had a clear look of the culprit.
The man cocked his head at one of the police cars that had its back door open where a young man were sat on the back seat with his feet out on the ground, slouching with a warm cup of coffee in his hands. Even though the coffee was warm enough with the white steam coiled out from the cup, the hands what were holding the cup slightly trembled, yet the police officer who was watching him didn't notice that.
He grabbed one of the police winter jackets that were hung on a broken branch of a tree while he was still busy examining the crime scene.
"Hey," the owner of the jacket noticed and protested.
"Sorry, let me borrow this for a while. I think the boy need this more than you do," he nodded at the young man on the back of the police car.
The police officer took a glance at him and shrugged, "Well, whatever. I just want it back when I'm done here."
"Sure, sure," the detective gave a light answer and left.
He approached the young man and gave a nod to the other officer that was watching him.
"I'll take it from here," he said.
The officer nodded before he left from his post.
"Here," the detective put the jacket over the young man's shoulder, "You seem cold," he gave his best friendly smile, made twin dimples appeard on both of his cheeks.
The young man sniffed and rubbed his red nose before saying thanks. He took a good look at this kind officer, from his look; he might be in his late thirty, quite handsome with a gentle fatherly look, a bit contrast with the obvious scar on his right eyebrow, near his temple. His hair was neatly combed to the back of his head, and his coat, shirt, and suit were ironed perfectly that it barely had a single crumple on it, even though he went out of his house in a rush at 3 in the morning.
He must have been married, then. But when the young man checked his left ring finger, there was no ring on it, only a mark on the flesh deepened by a ring worn for years that was just recently removed; a divorcee. So, even without his wife, this man was a tidy person.
The detective started to talk, "So..."
"I've already told the officers about what had happened," the young man cut through the detective's words bitterly, "If you want to know about it, just read the report. And I don't want to hear you say, "It doesn't matter, I want to hear it one more time." It's irritating." He was lowering his voice as he spoke the quoted sentence.
The detective laughed, "You, my boy, have watched too much movies."
The young man shrugged.
"So, what's your name?" the detective asked and gave an irritated look from the young man in return, "Yes, yes. You've given it too, and I'll just have to read the report. But, come on, how hard is it just to say your name? As the matter of fact, how rude of me, asking your name but I haven't introduced mine, I'm Murakami Haruo, and you are...?" he hung his words for an answer.
"Clever," the young man scoffed, "Luring me into an introduction so I'll say my name."
"You still won't give it? Actually, I'm a detective, you know," he fished out his wallet from his coat inside pocket and showed the badge and his ID to the young man. "So I have more authorities then most of the officers here."
"Fine," the young gave in, "I'm Arisawa Seiichi."
"There. That's not so hard. Nice to meet you, Arisawa-kun," Murakami smiled.
Arisawa sighed and rubbed his nasal bridge with thumb and forefinger, feeling tired, "Sorry, I was just a little irritated since it was a bad day, and I haven't slept, and it was already three in the morning, and my head was kind of dizzy because of booze."
"A goukon?"
"A messed up goukon," Arisawa scoffed, "Yeah."
"So, you've accidentally walked into the park after the goukon?" the detective asked.
"You're luring me again."
Murakami laughed, "Yeah, sorry. Bad habit."
Arisawa gave him the 'uh-huh' look, rolling his eyes.
"Ok,ok," Murakami put his hands out in the air, making a surrender gesture, shrugging, "I won't force you to tell." He crossed his arms on his chest then leaned on the car—right next to Arisawa.
There was a pause for a brief moment before Arisawa finally talked. "Well, he looked like this," Arisawa took out a small notebook filled with scribbles and a pen attached on its cover from his jacket pocket and scribbled a doodle on it before showing it to the detective.
"So..." the detective stared at the notebook page, "He, uh, looks like Suneo?"
Suneo was a character from one of the famous anime TV show, Doraemon. He practically looked like a fox, he's an arrogant rich boy.
Arisawa burst out into laugh, "When you said it like that, yeah, perhaps. Though, I originally wanted to draw him like a fox."
The detective hummed considerately. "This is a good picture though," he complimented, patting the notebook with the back of his hand.
"I can even draw you a more specific one if I had the right tool. Though I might not have it 100% accurate, since I only have a quick look of him," the young man said.
"You mean, you can draw us a profile picure?" Murakami asked in disbelief.
Arisawa shrugged, "Yeah. Consider you guys are lucky to have an illustrator as a witness."
"Why didn't you say earlier?!" the detective's voice rose a pitch higher for excitement.
"Well, no one practically asked the right question. They only asked me to describe verbally what the culprit looked like."
"Then why didn't you say you can draw him?"
"I just did."
The detective huffed. He just realized that the young man needed a little encouraging since he was a bit nonchalant about everything. He would only react if he was on the mood to. The right approach would be very effective rather than forcing him to do as he told.
"Ok then. We'll continue this tomorrow. It seems you're very tired."
A police officer protested when Murakami suggested the idea, but the detective hushed him with a wave of his hand.
"I said, we'll continue this, tomorrow," he repeated in strict tone, glaring sharply at the officer, who nodded obediently. He turned to the young man again, wearing his friendly face, "I'll drive you home. And please restrain yourself not to go anywhere recklessly since you're our precious witness. Please remember that the culprit might come after you because of it too. It's just the matter of time he'd know your identity. We'll place an undercover officer to guard your place."
Arisawa nodded.
"Put the jacket on," the detective told him, "And here," he pulled the officer's hat and put it on the young man's head. "Look down. cover your face with it, we don't want anyone to have a good look at you. We have some TV cameras standing there, if they have your face, you'll be in deep trouble."
Arisawa obediently walked between Detective Murakami and other officer who were guarding him from the reporters who shoved their mikes at him and asking non stop questions. He lowered the police hat so that his face wouldn't clearly seen.
Murakami shoved them away and giving them a "No comment," comment and left the pouting reporters behind.
They chose Murakami's normal car instead of the police car to avoid more attention. Some of the persistent reporters were chasing the car even as it drove away.
[To be continued]
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