The three men exchanged a look. Chris paused, just a beat. "Yeah, we''ve got some new info. Hoping it''ll move things along with the investigation."
Marcus nudged Alanx gently. "Look, just spit it out. Easier for everyone if you do."
Alanx sucked in a breath, lifting his chin, but you could see the struggle in his eyes, the raw pain there.
"Daisy... she was my girlfriend," he managed, his voice a little rough around the edges. "We met in the baseball club; she was on the team too."
Carl nodded, a slight tilt of his head, urging him to go on.
"Things were good at first. We''d hit up games together, practice together, you know?" Alanx recalled, a wry twist to his lips.
"Then Dasco muscled in," Marcus cut in, a definite edge in his tone. "He was always around Daisy, pretending to interview her. He writes for the school paper, and he''s in the drama club, the snake."
"Daisy started pulling away," Alanx''s voice dropped, almost a whisper. "Quit baseball, said she wanted to focus on drama, dancing."
Carl listened, picking up on the hurt radiating off Alanx .
"She and Dasco became inseparable," Marcus scoffed. "But then we found out it wasn''t just him."
"What do you mean?" Carl''s brow furrowed.
Chris hesitated again. "We found out Daisy was hooking up with some... older guys. They were seen going into that hotel near school."
A name flashed in Carl''s mind: Shimura Yu. His gaze hardened. "Do you know Shimura Yu?"
"Yeah, works at Wilson Construction," Chris confirmed. "Always at Le Petit Café, sits in the corner by himself, doesn''t talk much."
"I saw him with Daisy on Monday," Alanx chimed in, his voice a bit shaky. "They were definitely arguing. Shimura looked really stressed, kept saying sorry."
"What did you hear?" Carl pressed.
"He said to Daisy, ''I''m a little short on cash right now, but I''ll get you the money ASAP,''" Alanx recalled. "Daisy looked furious, shook her head, and just walked away."
The pieces were starting to click for Carl. The 5000 in Daisy''s account, Shimura''s shifty behavior – the connections were forming.
He yanked out his phone and dialed the director. "Director, we need to get eyes on Shimura Yu, open an investigation. Probably need a warrant too."
Pocketing his phone, Carl looked at the three men, his tone less sharp now. "Thanks for the heads-up. This is big for the investigation."
Alanx just nodded, his voice rough. "Just hope we get to the truth."
Carl clapped him on the shoulder. "We''ll do our damnedest."
A heavy blanket of dark clouds smothered the city, like some giant fist was slowly closing around it. Shimura Yu stood in the elevator of his office building, watching the numbers climb, a knot of anxiety twisting in his stomach.
Half an hour ago, the bubbly receptionist had called, all sweetness and light. "Mr. Shimura, the police are on the phone. They need to ask you a few more questions. Could you pop down as soon as you get a chance?"
He''d nodded, feeling like a puppet on strings, tidying his desk. His hands were jittery as he straightened the files, a couple of key documents slipping and flopping onto the floor. Bending to retrieve them, he noticed the sorry state of his shoes – the leather cracked and begging for polish.
"This time..." He checked his watch: 11:27 am. Not even lunchtime, and his colleagues were still glued to their screens. They pretended to be engrossed, but Shimura felt their eyes on him, those quick, furtive glances. Ever since the cops had questioned him yesterday, he''d become the office pariah, whispers dogging his every step.
"Hey, uh, Minister, gotta take a sick day," he mumbled, handing over his leave slip with a slight bow. The flimsy paper felt clammy in his hand.
"Yeah, whatever," the minister grunted, not even looking up, just slapping the stamp down haphazardly. Shimura noticed it was crooked, just like his own mood.
Stepping out of the building, the autumn wind smacked him, carrying a gritty film of dust. He instinctively clutched his briefcase, the worn leather a small comfort.
He flagged down a cab. "Police Station," he croaked, the words coming out hoarse. The driver''s eyes flicked to him in the rearview mirror, a look that made Shimura squirm. He hunched down, pretending to smooth nonexistent wrinkles from his suit – the same black suit he''d been wearing for five years, the cuffs frayed, but he couldn''t bring himself to replace it.
The city blurred past the windows, and Shimura''s mind bounced between the past and the present.
"Kill them," a voice hissed in his head, a seductive whisper. Shimura jolted, nearly yelping. That voice, that goddamn voice, had been his constant companion since he''d seen that.
"Shut up! Just shut up!" he raged silently, his fingernails digging crescents into his palms. The driver gave him another look in the mirror, this time with open suspicion.
At a red light, Shimura suddenly barked, "Let me out here!" even though the station was still a couple of blocks away. He fumbled with his wallet, paid the fare, and stood on the curb, watching the taxi melt into the traffic. He needed a minute, needed to get his head straight.
The dark clouds pressed down, the air thick and heavy. He tilted his head back, staring at the oppressive sky, the sun swallowed by the gloom. It felt like a mirror of his own life – once bright, now swallowed by the darkness.
"Ugh, I just want to die," he murmured, the words as light as a falling leaf.
The police station loomed ahead, the gray building like a silent predator waiting for its prey. His stomach churned, bile rising in his throat. He doubled over, retching on the sidewalk, but nothing came up. The instant coffee from this morning churned sourly in his gut.
"Kill them..." The voice was back, clearer, more insistent now.
Shimura hugged his briefcase tighter, as if it were a lifeline. His legs felt like lead weights, each step a struggle.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.
Passersby hurried past the disheveled man, averting their eyes. No one wanted to linger on his misery. But Shimura was oblivious, lost in his own head. His awareness was fading, his soul feeling detached, watching his body trudge towards the station entrance.
The steps leading up to the station weren''t high, but to Shimura, they felt like scaling a mountain. His worn shoes scraped against the concrete, a harsh, grating sound. Sweat dripped from his forehead, tracing lines down his glasses and onto the ground.
"Sir, can I help you?" A female officer at the front desk looked up, a hint of concern in her voice.
"I... I''m Shimura Yu. I got a call... they need to ask me more questions," he stammered, his voice trembling like a leaf in a gale.
The officer flipped through a logbook and nodded. "Have a seat. I''ll let the officer in charge know you''re here."
A few people were scattered on the bench in the waiting area. Shimura picked the furthest corner, trying to shrink into himself. He clutched his briefcase, the air conditioning blowing on his damp shirt, sending shivers down his spine.
"Kill them..." The voice echoed again, insistent.
Shimura squeezed his eyes shut, trying to slow his racing heart. But each breath felt like sucking in ice water, his lungs burning. He thought back to how this had all started.
Memories flickered like a broken film reel. That night, peering through his telescope at the apartment across the way. Then he''d seen something he shouldn''t have. A hand clamped around a woman''s throat, lifting her into the air. The images were seared into his brain, impossible to forget.
"Mr. Shimura?" A deep voice cut through his thoughts.
He looked up to see a tall, young cop standing there. "Kim" read the name tag.
"Come with me, please," Kim said, his tone neutral, but there was an undercurrent there.
The interrogation room. The words hammered in Shimura''s skull. Not an interrogation, just more questions, he told himself. But as he followed Kim down the long hallway, the voice returned, louder than ever: "Kill them, kill them, kill them..."
The voice was a relentless drumbeat in his mind. Shimura''s fingers were locked around the handle of his briefcase, the leather creaking under the pressure.
His vision swam, the fluorescent lights of the corridor blurring into distorted shapes.
Kim opened a door. A small room. A table. Two chairs. The clock on the wall blinked 12:15, but time felt like it had stopped dead.
"Have a seat," Kim gestured to one of the chairs.
Shimura sat down stiffly, the briefcase heavy on his lap. He could feel his pulse thumping, loud enough for the whole damn station to hear.
After Kim left, the silence in the interrogation room was thick enough to choke on. Shimura''s heart hammered against his ribs, sweat beading on his forehead. His grip on the briefcase was a white-knuckle affair.
Then the door swung open again. A burly, middle-aged man walked in, sharp black suit, tie perfectly straight. His face was all sharp angles and his eyes... they just bored right through you. His footsteps echoed in the small space, each one a punch to Shimura''s gut.
The man moved with a smooth, practiced ease and sat down across from Shimura. A ghost of a smile touched the corner of his mouth. "Mr. Shimura. We meet again."
Shimura''s head snapped up, startled. "You... Officer Carl. Hello," he managed, his voice a shaky whisper, trying to mask the fear churning inside him.
Carl''s gaze was intense, like a hawk sizing up its prey. "You have a good memory, Mr. Shimura."
"Well... we only met yesterday," Shimura mumbled, keeping his head down, avoiding Carl''s piercing stare. His fingers fidgeted with the edge of the briefcase, his nails digging into the worn leather.
"So, you know why you''re come here?" Carl leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, his voice low and steady, but with an unmistakable pressure.
Shimura shook his head, a thin sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead, a droplet tracing a path down his temple.
Carl''s smile widened, but it didn''t reach his eyes. "It''s about the murder. Daisy''s case." His voice dropped, each word hitting Shimura like a stone. "We found out that a few days before she was killed, 5000 was deposited into her account."
The words hit Shimura like a sledgehammer, knocking the air out of his lungs. His breath hitched, his chest tight. Blood roared in his ears, his palms slick with cold sweat.
"Care to explain that, Mr. Shimura?" Carl''s eyes were sharp, the hint of a predator''s smile playing on his lips.
"I... I don''t know anything about that," Shimura stammered, his voice barely audible, the panic rising in his throat. He wouldn''t meet Carl''s gaze.
Carl sighed softly, a touch of what sounded like disappointment in his tone. "Mr. Shimura, I''d strongly advise you to be straight with us. Digging yourself a deeper hole isn''t going to help."
Shimura started to tremble. He bit his lip, shaking his head again, a frantic denial. "I swear, I don''t know."
Carl picked up the phone on the table and punched in a number. "Kim? Bring in the evidence."
A moment later, Kim returned, carrying a large, clear evidence bag. It gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights, the contents visible: a pair of high-powered binoculars, a silver laptop, a stack of cassette tapes with dates scrawled on them, a small digital camera, and a tiny pinhole camera.
The color drained from Shimura''s face, leaving him ashen. His eyes were fixated on the bag, his pupils shrinking, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His grip on the briefcase tightened, his knuckles bone-white.
"These look familiar, Mr. Shimura?" Carl''s voice was hard now, his gaze unwavering, watching Shimura''s reaction like a hawk.
Shimura''s throat was constricted, his voice a dry rasp. "Those are... mine."
Carl nodded, his tone flat. "Since they''re yours, maybe you can tell us what you use them for?"
Shimura''s body started to shake uncontrollably, his eyes darting around the room, anywhere but at Carl. "I... I just..."
Carl pointed to the laptop. "Shall we take a look at what''s on here?"
The question seemed to trigger something in Shimura. His body convulsed, and a small, glinting knife clattered onto the floor. Kim reacted instantly, lunging forward and tackling Shimura to the ground, while Carl moved to assist, expertly snapping handcuffs onto Shimura''s wrists.
Carl''s knee pressed into Shimura''s back. "Shimura Yu, you''re under arrest for obstruction of justice and illegal possession of a weapon."
"Officer, I have an alibi!" Shimura shouted, desperation lacing his voice. "I was home that night, I can prove it!"
Carl and Kim exchanged a glance. "And that would be?"
Shimura swallowed hard, shame contorting his face. "That night... I was watching the woman in apartment 5-3-3... through my telescope. She was... showering." His voice dropped to a near whisper.
The interrogation room fell silent. Disgust flickered across Carl''s face. "Go on."
"And... I also... I used a pinhole camera to record the blonde woman downstairs and a man... you know... doing things." Shimura couldn''t meet their eyes.
"So, where does that put you during the murder?" Carl pressed, his voice cold.
"Around 1:50 AM, I''d just gotten back from a bar," Shimura mumbled, defeated.
"Go check his apartment," Carl instructed Kim, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Back at Richi Apartments, Carl had Kim call for the black-haired tenant from 5-3-3 and the blonde neighbor downstairs. The scene that unfolded was pure chaos.
"Pervert!" the black-haired woman shrieked, her face contorted with fury. "You disgusting pig!"
The blonde neighbor was trembling with rage. "Oh god, I can''t believe I''ve been living right above a creep like you!" She spun on her heel and fled, looking like she wanted to scrub herself clean.
Word spread like wildfire through the building. Tenants crowded the stairwells, peering down at Shimura, their faces etched with anger and disgust. A few spat at him as they passed, others muttered curses under their breath.
"Shimura!"Mrs. Maggie stormed down the stairs, her face a mask of fury. "I had no idea! Renting to scum like you! You''re out of here tomorrow, no, you''re out today!"
Back at the station, the evidence stacked up. Security footage from a nearby bar confirmed Shimura''s late-night return. Reluctantly, Carl and Kim confirmed his alibi.
"Always thought that weirdo was just shy, couldn''t look you in the eye. Guess I was wrong," the blonde tenant muttered, her voice still laced with anger.
"Officer, as much as I wish that creep would rot in hell, I did see his lights on around two in the morning the night before last," a neighbor offered, her disgust palpable.
As Carl left the apartment building, the blonde girl''s sneer and the black-haired girl''s raw fury were still vivid in his mind.
Kim, clearly unimpressed, muttered, "Lucky bastard. Cameras just happened to be working when he needed them to."
Carl just nodded grimly. "These guys will get what''s coming to them. But we''ve got bigger problems right now."
Later, Shimura sat alone in the dimly lit room. The setting sun cast long, distorted shadows across the floor. His eyes were vacant, his face blank.
The voice echoed in his head, sharp and insistent: "Kill them, kill them..."
Shimura clutched his head, a strangled cry escaping his lips. "Stop it! Make it stop!"
But the voice grew louder, consuming his thoughts. His lips began to move, a low murmur escaping his throat. "Kill them... kill them..."
His eyes widened, a chilling smile spreading across his face.
Watching the blurred figures moving outside the window, Shimura''s voice was a low, chilling whisper: "Kill them... kill them..."