The call came at 2:14 AM.
It broke the silence of the night shift like a glass jar dropped on concrete. Kenji Sano was asleep at his desk, his head resting on a stack of cold case files. Manjiro was awake, watching a late-night variety show on his tablet with the volume turned low.
The phone on Kenji's desk rang once, twice. Kenji's hand shot out, grabbing the receiver before the third ring. He didn't say hello. He just listened.
"Sano," he called, his voice thick with sleep.
He listened for ten seconds. His eyes, previously clouded with exhaustion, snapped open. They were clear, cold, and awake.
"Don't touch it." Kenji ordered into the phone. "We are an hour out. If a single officer steps inside the perimeter, I will have their badge."
He slammed the phone down and grabbed his coat.
"Manjiro. Drive."
"Where to?" Manjiro asked, already standing up, sensing the shift in the air.
"Chiba." Kenji said, checking his weapon.
"The outskirts. Near the old rice paddies."
"That's outside our jurisdiction, Kenji. The Prefectural Police will..."
"The Prefectural Police are scared," Kenji cut him off, walking toward the elevator.
"They said they found something that belongs to us."
"Belongs to us?"
"They found a tag." Kenji said as the elevator doors slid open. "Just like the one in the tunnel."
The drive to Chiba was a blur of highway lights and rain. The storm that had drowned Tokyo earlier in the week had moved east, turning the countryside into a muddy, grey wasteland.
They arrived at the scene forty-five minutes later. It was a stretch of land acres of flattened earth where a housing development had been stalled for months. Construction equipment sat silent and rusting in the dark, skeletal yellow giants watching over the mud.
Blue and red lights from three patrol cars cut through the mist. The local officers were huddled by their vehicles, smoking nervous cigarettes, refusing to look at the center of the field.
Kenji stepped out of the car. The smell hit him instantly. It wasn't the smell of decay, like in the tunnel. It was the smell of a barbecue gone wrong. Burnt carbon. Melted synthetic fabric. And underneath it all, the sweet, cloying scent of roasted meat.
"Detectives" a uniformed sergeant approached them. He looked pale, wiping rain from his face. "We... we didn't know who else to call. The file on the 'Tunnel Body' said to contact you immediately if we found a wooden tag."
"Where is it?" Kenji asked, pulling up his collar against the wind.
"Out there." the sergeant pointed into the darkness of the empty field. "About a hundred meters in. We set up lights, but... nobody wants to get close."
"Stay here," Manjiro ordered the sergeant. "Keep the press away."
Kenji and Manjiro walked into the mud. The ground sucked at their boots with every step. The portable floodlights cast long, distorted shadows across the churned earth.
As they got closer, the shape in the center of the field became clear.
It was a man. Or it had been.
He was kneeling in the mud, frozen in a grotesque posture. His arms were thrown out wide, fingers clawed, as if he had been trying to embrace the sky. His head was thrown back in a silent scream.
But it was what he was wearing that made Manjiro stop in his tracks.
"What is that?" Manjiro whispered. "Wire?"
Fused to the blackened skin of the victim was a cage. It was a rough, crude coat woven from dry straw and chicken wire. The fire had burned most of the straw away, leaving only the charred skeleton of the weave melted into the victim's flesh.
"It's a raincoat." Kenji said softly, stepping closer. The heat radiating from the body had long since faded, leaving it cold and wet in the rain. "A Mino. A traditional straw raincoat."
Kenji circled the body. The victim's suit expensive Italian wool, was visible in patches where the straw hadn't burned completely.
"Who is he?" Manjiro asked, covering his nose with a handkerchief.
"Hiroshi Kurosawa." Kenji said, pointing to a gold watch on the charred wrist. It was a Rolex, melted and stopped at 11:42 PM.
"CEO of Kuro-Sawa Development. He was reported missing by his wife six hours ago."
"The land developer?" Manjiro frowned.
"He's the one who bulldozed half this district to build condos."
"And now he's part of the soil." Kenji noted.
He leaned in to examine the straw. "This wasn't an accident. Look at the wire. It's wrapped tight around the chest and arms. He was sewn into this coat. He couldn't take it off."
"And then set on fire?"
"Oil." Kenji pointed to the black matter around the knees. "He was covered in oil. Then lit. He ran... maybe twenty meters. You can see the drag marks."
Kenji shone his light back the way the tracks led. The mud was churned up, evidence of a frantic, burning dance. A man running blindly, screaming, while the coat on his back consumed him.
"He danced," Kenji whispered. "Until he couldn't move."
"Why?" Manjiro looked at the field. "Why this method? It's overly complicated. A bullet is cheaper."
"It's a message." Kenji said. He walked to a wooden stake driven into the ground near the start of the tracks.
Nailed to the stake was a piece of wood. Japanese Cypress. Fresh Sumi ink that repelled the rain.
Kenji knelt down, shining his light on the Kanji.
虐 (Shiitageru) — Oppression.
"Oppression." Manjiro read over his shoulder. "First Greed. Now Oppression."
"Kurosawa oppressed these farmers," Kenji stood up, his face grim. "He used legal loopholes to steal their land. He burned their barns to scare them off. And now..."
"Now he burns." Manjiro finished.
Kenji looked out at the dark, empty field. He could almost feel the presence of the killer. This wasn't a crime of passion. It was a ceremony. The location, the method, the tag, it was all theatrical.
"Manjiro." Kenji said, his voice low. "Do you know what they called this punishment in the Edo period?"
"I skipped history class, Kenji."
"It's called Mino-odori!" Kenji said. "The Straw Raincoat Dance. Feudal lords used it to punish peasants who couldn't pay their rice tax. They would dress them in straw, set them on fire, and watch them run."
Manjiro stared at the charred corpse. "But Kurosawa wasn't a peasant. He was the lord."
"Exactly!!" Kenji turned away from the body, the realization settling in his gut like a stone.
"The killer is flipping the script. He's taking the punishments meant for the weak... and using them on the strong."
"So we're looking for a historian?" Manjiro asked.
"No." Kenji walked back toward the car.
"We're looking for an executioner. Someone who believes the modern laws have failed. Someone who thinks Tokyo needs a Shogun."
Kenji stopped and looked back at the sergeant, who was hovering at the edge of the light.
"Sergeant!" Kenji barked.
"Yes, sir?"
"Bag the tag. Get forensics to sweep for footprints, though the rain probably washed them away. And get a coroner out here who has a strong stomach."
"Yes, sir. Is... is it over?"
Kenji looked at the burned husk of the millionaire developer, kneeling in the mud of the land he stole.
"Over?" Kenji shook his head. "Greed. Oppression. There are eight more sins in the code, Sergeant. He's just getting started."
Chapter 4 End - 8 more?