On the other side of the precinct, Chief Harrison Hartwell walked toward the interrogation room, lost in thought. He didn't feel the "triumph" Jimmy Wood had imagined.
The police hadn't caught the fugitive themselves. The Osaka PD had nothing to brag about.
Initially, when he heard Kevin Nelms had been dropped off, he'd barely spared it a glance. He figured they'd just process the man and let two officers handle the questioning. His focus had been entirely on the serial killer who had already claimed four lives.
But shortly after Nelms was brought in, the National Police Agency (NPA) had called, demanding every scrap of information regarding his capture. When asked where he was caught, Nelms had been cooperative, leading them to the truth about Officer Scott. But the moment they asked who caught him, Nelms shut down completely.
"Chief!" Commissioner Silverton called out as Harrison approached.
"Is he still talking?" Harrison asked.
"No. He refuses to say a word about the person who delivered him," Silverton replied. "The forensics team at the mountain cabin only found traces of Nelms and Scott. Whoever brought him in seems to have scrubbed the place clean. No fingerprints, no footprints, not even a stray hair."
"What about the CCTV outside Headquarters?"
"Nothing. The spot where the box was dropped is a notorious blind spot," Silverton said. "The burner phone used to call the station was bought with cash and has already been deactivated. No call logs, no GPS. Even the printed labels were generic. As for the box, it was a standard Leopard Express shipping container. I've sent men to the local distribution centers to check for missing inventory."
Harrison stared through the observation glass at the raw, chafed skin on Nelms's wrists. "He was injured recently. Look at those marks."
"Yes," Silverton's expression turned odd. "Nelms claims he 'tripped.' The scene investigators agree—the scuffle marks don't look like a two-man fight. It looks like he was struggling against himself."
"So, we have absolutely nothing on this person?" Harrison asked.
"Nothing," Silverton nodded gravely. "It's almost as if Nelms is... protecting him. Could this be an accomplice? Maybe someone who convinced Nelms to take the fall?"
Harrison saw Silverton spiraling into a conspiracy theory and let out a short laugh. "I doubt it. If we can't find anything, let it go for now. Just get me the final report when the investigation is over."
"Uh, right..." Silverton blinked, confused by the Chief's sudden lack of concern.
Harrison didn't explain. The NPA's Public Security Bureau had called within ten minutes of the arrest. They didn't ask if Nelms was caught; they asked for the details of the capture. This meant they had been monitoring the situation through their own channels and knew "July" was active.
The tone of the caller had been casual—almost like they were just collecting data on a known asset rather than hunting a criminal.
He must be one of theirs, Harrison mused. Or at least, someone they were keeping a very close eye on.
Leopard Express Distribution Center.
"Our staff is all accounted for. We haven't had any large deliveries today..."
"Any missing boxes?" An employee thought for a moment. "Cardboard boxes aren't worth much, sir. We don't really keep a count."
The two investigating officers shared a look. Dead end.
"If you remember anything, call us."
As the police left, the employee turned back to Steve Smith and smiled apologetically. "Sorry for the wait, sir!"
"It's fine. Cooperating with the law is important," Steve said calmly.
He wasn't here because he was nervous. He'd picked up the box for Nelms off the street; it could have been any brand. He was actually here to ship some packages.
"The destination is Blue Mountain Fourth Hospital. Recipient: Dr. Miller. The phone number is..."
The clerk filled out the form. "Do you want to specify a delivery time?"
"No," Steve said. "Whenever is fine."
Steve watched as the clerk boxed up a collection of dolls, plush keychains, and children's t-shirts he'd bought. "The second one goes to 22, Block 2, Baker District, Tokyo. Recipient: Anita Hailey. No specified delivery time."
"And a contact number for her?"
"She doesn't have one."
"Oh... okay..."
Steve left the courier and hailed a cab for the airport. He'd made a decent profit in Osaka, and since he had few friends to share it with, he'd decided to send some gifts.
He'd included a note for Dr. Miller with a gift for Officer Nathan as well—a peace offering for knocking him out and dosing him with ether. As for his parents? He realized he didn't even know where they were currently living, so he didn't bother.
The hospital would be looking for him. Once Miller saw the return address on the package, he'd know Steve was in Osaka and might send someone to fetch him. That gave Steve just enough time to squeeze in one more bounty.
At the airport, Steve tossed the burner phone he'd used to call the police into a trash can. Thirty minutes later, he was on a flight back to Tokyo.
6:30 PM. Tokyo.
Steve didn't go to his parked car. He grabbed a taxi instead. The "Protection" mission was straightforward, but the "Evidence Gathering" required legwork.
His target was a high-ranking enforcer for the Inagawa-kai syndicate in Tokyo. The bounty file was thorough: name, photo, address, daily routine. The mandate: Find evidence of any crime. Anything will do.
This usually meant the Public Security Bureau wanted a reason to squeeze the guy for information or use him as an example. If the police hadn't done it themselves, it meant the target was careful and well-protected.
I might need a partner for this, Steve thought.
8:00 PM. Pet Street.
The shops were quiet. Most owners were closing up, chatting about getting drinks. Steve walked down the street, the air filled with the chatter of animals.
"That guy over there is so ugly..." "I wonder what's for dinner tomorrow?" "Water! Where's the water?" "Move over, you're squishing me!"
Steve visited several shops and noticed a pattern. The animals he could actually hear—whether cats, dogs, or birds—had eyes that were far more expressive and "alive" than their peers. They usually held a higher status in their cages.
Spirituality, Steve realized.
Sometimes he couldn't hear anything because the surrounding life forms simply lacked the "spark." Sometimes an animal would say one thing and then go silent for hours, as if the thought was just a momentary lapse into consciousness.
He thought back to the hospital. The tree that remembered twenty years of gossip. The bird that mocked the nurses. The succulent that complained about Dr. Miller's gaming habits.
Then he looked at the animals in front of him: a puppy tiltings its head vacantly, a cat sleeping like a log, a hamster repeating its dinner menu...
Steve stood in silence.
Is it possible... that the asylum is actually where all the geniuses are?
It was a staggering realization. Even the plants and animals in the hospital were smarter than the ones in the "sane" world. In the outside world, he hadn't heard a single plant speak yet. In the asylum, there were at least three with IQs comparable to humans.
I guess it's true what they say, Steve mused. The line between genius and madness is thin—and it applies to pigeons, too.