Imamimi Notanobu - VI

The victim has been identified as Li Zezhang. Identified by Chinese netizens (portmanteau of citizen and network), Li Zezhang was, in my understanding anyway, an agricultural worker of sorts. Adopted by childless parents and coming from a poor background, he had emigrated to Fukuoka to avoid the war and find some measure of success.

That’s pretty much where the information ends. There’s nothing about where he worked or what he did while in Japan. Just a single post from him on a Chinese social media site, saying goodbye to friends and family, and wishing them all the best.

Usually, all foreigners have their fingerprints taken by the J-BIS system when they enter the country. However, two reasons make this inapplicable for his situation.

One.

His body was completely desecrated, leaving nothing left to identify.

Two.

He was possibly smuggled into the country, meaning that his prints wouldn’t be in the J-BIS system anyway.

I keep thinking about Li Zezhang. About the fact that the internet had found all this information. About the fact that I know his background.

It’s a strange experience. Like looking down a sinister, memory lane, under the cover of some dark underpass. That such an individual with both ambition and youth aplenty would be killed like this.

Is haunting, really.

We’re back at the scene of the crime again. The abandoned building with the remains of a body, and the cold atmosphere of desolation. In this wintry afternoon, the only source of light is Yuura’s flashlight and a scant ray from a run-down window.

I exhale a cloud of smoky white and watch it fade away into the darkness.

“Okay,” Yuura agrees. “The images do match the one in this room. The patterns and everything are the same.”

She maintains a serious expression and stoops down near the corpse. Yuura has a surprising amount of composure. For someone who I’d occasionally involved in investigation, she has the gusto of a veteran professional.

“Mad Dog.” I chew on that name. “Yesterday. When you were in that corner, did something catch your eye?”

“I think I saw a rat. It looked edible enough.”

We move about the crime scene in an attempt to uncover something new. It was pretty dark yesterday, and given my stress at that point in time, it stands to reason that I might’ve missed a few key details.

More than that, though…

With Yuura around, there are certain imperceptible things that can otherwise be seen.

She moves to a corner of the room and fiddles with a table-side bowl. Yuura stares at it long and hard. Body unmoving. Eyes laser-focused.

I can’t see the inside of the bowl from my crouching angle, but whatever it is has got her engrossed. Just as I thought, coming back here with good lighting and a calm mind for investigation was the right choice.

“Loyalty?” she mumbles. “Can you come here, Nobu?”

I come closer. Inside the bowl, appears to be a piece of red and yellow paper, with the kanji ‘忠’ written on it. Unlike the pre-existing text on the paper however, the kanji, seems to have been hastily painted on. Inscribed in red ink.

“This is our eighth clue, isn’t it?” I say.

Yuura nods. “What are the chances there’d be a bowl nearby, with a strange paper inside?”

I nod and push my head closer to the object.

Looking at it longer, I’m reminded of something I’ve seen before…

“The colour scheme’s pretty Chinese, isn’t it?” asks Yuura.

“I mean, everything’s been pretty Chinese so far.”

“Yes—I get that, but I mean, what specific part of China is it referencing?” She pauses. “I think the Kōshi-byō in Nagasaki had a similar style.”

“Hm.” I nod in deep acknowledgement, stroking my chin all the while.

“Well, any opinion?”

“I'm trying to ascertain what the Kōshi-byō is by context clues.”

“It's a Confucian shrine. Very red and yellow, like this paper. I'm wondering if it's a Confucian prayer paper or something. Though I can't remember anything similar.”

I look at Mad Dog. She comes close and takes a look at the paper for herself. There’s a flare of instant recognition in her eyes; no room for doubt.

“It's Joss paper,” says Mad Dog. “Basically, incense paper. We burn it as an offering to our ancestors.”

Yuura nods. “Seems strange that it isn't burnt. If they wanted to keep it for storage, they wouldn't put it in a bowl, would they?”

“I wouldn't, at least.” Mad Dog picks up the paper and holds it near her face. “This character…”

She squints her eyes into narrow slits, staring long and hard.

“Yes?” I add, in an attempt to motivate her.

“‘忠’ means loyalty.” She stops. “But alternate meaning also.” She stops for a while longer, frustration unfolding in her brows. Like she's looking for how best to navigate this foreign language. “Since it's on joss paper, it has joss paper association—family, ancestor. So I think ‘忠’ better translates as filial piety.”

Filial piety. Devotion to one's family. I’m not a Confucian expert by any means, but I remember a few of his quotes I picked up in Junior High. And as far as my non-professional opinion goes, I’m fairly sure he had a few things to say about loving your parents, and whatnot.

“Isn’t filial piety a Confucian virtue?” I ask, just to be sure.

Mad Dog nods. “One of the basic principles. A lot of books about it, yes yes. Love your parents, love your siblings, love your landlord.”

“Thank you,” I reply. “That's very helpful.”

Mad Dog puts the paper down and returns to her corner of the room.

“Do you think the paper’s a message?” asks Yuura.

“Repetition gives meaning, I’d argue. Especially for little things like this. But there weren’t any other uh—”

“Joss papers.”

“Thank you sweet—joss papers, at the other murders, right?”

“No.” She puts on her thinking face. Hand on chin. Eyes ever so still. “No. I’m sure there weren’t.”

“But, there were other things.”

“Broken black and white glass. A red knot sliced in two. And a weighing scale with one side destroyed.”

I nod. “Lack of harmony. Broken love. And an obstruction of justice… I think?”

Yuura gives me an approving look. “So in this case, the filial piety paper, what have you, probably represents a lack of well, filial piety for one’s family, right?” She glances at the paper for a bit before turning back to me. “But it’s a bit different from the rest. It’s a little more… intact, if that makes sense.”

I get what she means. Each of the ones before was a bit broken, or scarred in a way. As if they’d been crudely altered from their original purpose.

“Well, you might not know this, but these things weren’t originally like that. They were tampered with, so to speak.”

Yuura gives a curious look, both eyes narrowed, and a ‘hm’ of a whisper. “Tampered.”

“Right. I messaged a few of the guys who were investigating the case, and they told me about it. Apparently, the shattered glass was originally in the shape of a yin-yang symbol, the red knot was unsliced, and the balance was evenly balanced. According to them, it was only when they revisited the scene that the objects were changed.”

She inhales, then exhales just as fast. “That’s stupid.”

“Hm?”

“Stupid on the killer's part, I mean. It's a really easy way to get yourself caught, no?” Yuura looks almost frustrated with the killer's negligence. “What if there was someone there when they returned to tamper with the stuff?”

“Then they play themselves off as just another amateur investigator.”

Yuura doesn’t move, but a glint of something, dare I say ‘accusatory’, flicks between her eyes and mouth. She’s been put off by Mad Dog since the first meeting, and I can only assume that this doesn’t help the poor woman’s case.

I cut through her supposed line of thought. “For the record, I don’t think it’s her.”

“Why?”

“Holistic instinct, I guess. It just doesn’t seem right. Anyway, the crimes scream ‘done by a mage’; to me, they’re just way too deep into esoteric object placement and showboating, to be anything but. And do you think Mad Dog is that sort of person?”

“Maybe? If serial killers were all what they seemed, they wouldn’t be very good at this sort of thing.”

Her expression is full of mixed feelings and lingering irritation. But with that comes my next point, and part of why I brought her here in the first place. If conventional means cannot secure evidence, then one must simply venture beyond that.

“Yuura-san, can you detect if magic was, or is, in this radius? I’m wondering if the killer left any signs. Lingering traces and the such.”

“Obviously,” she replies with a sly, but annoyed smile.

Reaching over her shoulder, Yuura shuffles her back harness forward, and as the nylon material shifts in place, a drum comes along with it.

A synthetic tsuzumi. Instead of horsehide and rope, it's made out of black metal and thick cords of plastic that tie it all together. Holding the cords tight, Yuura lifts it over her left shoulder and begins with her right.

What follows is a rhythm unlike any in the traditional vein, sounding more like the percussion to an underground rock song.

“Gods, gods, gods! Hey, hey, hey! Show yourself, and help me out, won’t yah?! Play a damn fine song, and reveal the trace of magic, how’s that, eh?!”

Yuura’s voice is a low and raspy growl. Borderline recognisable, and sounding like the mating call of a demon in hell—a phenomenon known as heavy metal singing.

This continues for a good minute, and as it does, the sound of a hichiriki follows. One of the sacred instruments of Shintoism.

Joining. Playing along. Sounding closer to an oboe than any flute.

—The mark of a kami heeding her call.

Then, Yuura stops, and just as quickly, so does the hichiriki. She begins to pace around, scanning the floor for any sort of clues. Her curiosity and determination gives way to quiet understanding, manifested in a sudden cessation of movement and a raise of brow.

Then, a sound emerges. Like the distant whistle of a tree-bound songbird.

Pzzt.

Now what could that be, I wonder?

With such timing, I’d be hard-pressed to deem it as anything but a message.

Mad Dog leaps to her feet. She makes for the centre of the room and raises her nose to the air.

“Loud. It's getting louder.”

She extends her hand forward.

Shake. Shake. Shake.

Like a dog swatting at a fly.

I follow her and do the same. I think there might be something to it, but I don't know. The subtle difference to me might as well be a trick on the mind. An effect so small one could mistake it for anything else.

That is, until a second later, wherein I genuinely hear the hichiriki grow a bit louder. Maybe two percent or so. Coming from my feet, no less.

Yuura looks at the joss paper and holds her hand near it. “It’s in the joss paper!” Her voice grows loud. “I can feel it. The kami’s revealing the traces of magic in the sound of a hichiriki.”

She grabs the paper and lifts it near me. I can’t hear anything from it. Not a trace or smidgen of the hichiriki she speaks about. I’m about to say as much when Yuura gives me a weird look, and I decide against it. The hichiriki’s coming from down-under, that’s for sure, so what’s the implication of pretending it’s from the paper?

“What type of magic do you think is inside this?” I ask.

“I don’t know, Nobu-kun.” She feels it between her fingers. “But I’m sure whatever magic there is, is inside this joss paper.”

As if on impulse. As if on cue with a very well-timed production, the sound of a hichiriki emerges from the paper, and it turns aflame.

Burning. Smoking. Becoming the vessel for a magical heat.