Roppongi Hills rose from the wet asphalt like a fortress of glass and steel, piercing the grey ceiling of the storm. It was a district that never truly slept, a place where foreign money mixed with local vice, and where men like Taro "The Spider" Suzuki could pretend they were kings.
Kenji parked the sedan illegally in a loading zone in front of the "Azure Tower," a residential complex where a one-bedroom apartment cost more than Kenji would earn in three lifetimes.
"He lived here?" Manjiro asked in awe, craning his neck to look up at the forty-story structure. "Loan sharking pays better than pension plans."
"It pays until it doesn't." Kenji said, slamming the car door. The rain had softened to a drizzle, but the wind had picked up, cutting through his trench coat.
"Let's go."
The lobby was a cathedral of marble and silent ambition. The caretaker, a young man with a jawline sharp enough to cut paper, looked at their badges with a mixture of disbelief and anxiety.
"Mr. Suzuki is in Penthouse B." the caretaker said, handing over a magnetic key card with two gloved fingers. "We... we haven't seen him since Tuesday night. Is he in trouble?"
"He's not in trouble anymore." Manjiro said cryptically, pocketing the card. "He's past the point of worrying."
They took the elevator in silence. The numbers ticked up - 10, 20, 30. Kenji watched his reflection in the polished brass doors. He looked like a ghost haunting a palace.
"Dr. Sato said no defensive wounds." Kenji broke the silence. "Dislocated shoulders. No drugs. That means the killer got close enough to incapacitate him instantly. Suzuki was street-smart. He carried a knife. He wouldn't let a stranger within striking distance."
"So, someone he knew?" Manjiro suggested.
"Or someone he didn't see coming."
The elevator dinged softly on the 40th floor. The hallway was plush, carpeted in deep crimson. It was silent.
They approached the door to Penthouse B. Kenji drew his service pistol, not because he expected the killer to still be there, he was long gone, but out of habit. You didn't walk into a predator's den with your hands in your pockets.
Manjiro swiped the card. The lock disengaged with a heavy, expensive thunk.
Kenji pushed the door open.
"Police!"
Silence answered them.
They moved in, clearing the corners. The apartment was vast. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the rain-swept Tokyo skyline, the Tokyo Tower glowing like an orange beacon in the distance. The furniture was Italian leather, black and sleek. Modern art, pretentious splashes of red and black hung on the walls.
It was a bachelor pad designed to impress, cold and impersonal.
"Clear.." Manjiro called out from the bedroom.
Kenji held back his weapon. "Don't touch anything yet. Just look."
The apartment wasn't tossed. There were no overturned chairs, no shattered glass. It was a half-drunk glass of whiskey sat on a coaster on the coffee table. The ice had long since melted, diluting the amber liquid.
"He was relaxed." Kenji noted, walking to the table. "He was having a drink. Coat thrown over the sofa. Shoes off by the door."
"Kenji," Manjiro's voice was tight. "Look at the dining table."
Kenji turned.
In the center of the open-concept living room was a long, mahogany dining table. And on top of it was a mountain.
It was cash. Stacks of ten-thousand-yen notes, bound in bank wrappers. There must have been fifty million yen, perhaps more. It was piled neatly, almost architecturally, in the center of the table.
But it wasn't just a pile. The killer had arranged the stacks to form a shape.
A pyramid. A shrine to wealth.
"If this was a robbery..." Manjiro whispered, walking closer but keeping his hands behind his back, "it was the worst robbery in history."
"It wasn't a robbery." Kenji said, staring at the money. "The tag said Greed. The killer didn't want the money. He wanted to show that the money couldn't save him."
Kenji leaned in. On top of the pyramid of cash sat a single object. It wasn't money.
It was a receipt.
Kenji pulled a pair of sticks from his pocket and gently lifted the slip of paper.
"What is it?" Manjiro asked.
"A receipt for a land purchase!" Kenji read the faded thermal ink. "Dated three months ago. A plot of land in the Chiba prefecture outskirts. Formerly agricultural zoning. Re-zoned for industrial waste management."
"Suzuki was buying farmland to turn into a dump?" Manjiro scowled. "Classy."
"No," Kenji narrowed his eyes. "Suzuki is the broker. The buyer is listed as... 'Kuro-Sawa Development'."
"Kuro-Sawa?" Manjiro frowned. "That's big time. They do government contracts. Highways, dams."
"And apparently, waste dumps on farmland," Kenji placed the receipt into an evidence bag. He looked around the room again, his eyes scanning for what didn't belong.
The killer had been here. He had stood in this room while Suzuki drank his whiskey. Had he been hiding in the shadows? Or had he walked in through the front door?
Kenji walked to the panoramic window. The glass was thick, soundproof. He looked down at the city, forty stories below.
"How did he get him out, Manjiro?" Kenji asked. "You don't carry a dead weight body out of a high-security building through the lobby without the caretaker noticing. And there are cameras in the elevators."
Manjiro was already at the wall panel near the kitchen. "Service elevator?"
"Checked it." Manjiro said. "Requires a key card. And the cameras cover it."
Kenji turned back to the room. His eyes landed on a large, heavy trunk at the foot of the bed, visible through the open bedroom door. It was a designer travel trunk, vintage style, massive enough to hold a wardrobe.
"The trunk." Kenji said.
He walked into the bedroom. The trunk was open, empty. But the lining...
Kenji lit and shone his flashlight into the trunk. The velvet lining was scuffed. And there, in the corner, a single strand of rough fiber.
Hemp (Cannibis tree seeds used to make fiber)
"He didn't carry the body." Kenji realized. "He carried luggage."
"He stuffed Suzuki in a suitcase?" Manjiro grimaced. "While he was still alive?"
"Dislocated shoulders.." Kenji reminded him. "To make him fit. He drugged him or choked him out, popped his joints, folded him into the trunk, and rolled him right out the front door. To the caretaker, he was just a wealthy tenant going on a trip."
"Cold!" Manjiro shook his head. "Ice cold."
Kenji walked back to the living room, staring at the pyramid of cash. The audacity of it. The killer had taken the time to stack the money. He had taken the time to leave a message.
"He's mocking him." Kenji said. "Suzuki spent his life hoarding this paper. And in the end, it was just a decoration for his funeral."
Manjiro's phone buzzed. He pulled it out, frowning at the screen.
"Chief Hideo.." Manjiro said. "He says the press has the story. Someone leaked the 'Feudal Torture' angle. They're calling it the 'Samurai Murders' on Twitter already."
"Let them!!" Kenji said, turning away from the money. "Fear makes people talk. Maybe someone will slip up."
"Also.." Manjiro added, scrolling down. "Forensics got a hit on the fingerprint database for the apartment. But it's weird."
"What's weird?"
"They found prints everywhere. Suzuki's, obviously. A few girls. But on the whiskey glass... the one Suzuki was drinking from... they found a partial print overlaid on top of Suzuki's."
"Someone touched his glass?"
"Someone toasted him." Manjiro corrected.
"The print is on the rim, facing opposite. Like someone cheered glasses with him."
Kenji froze.
"He wasn't hiding.." Kenji whispered. "He was a guest."
"But who does a paranoia-freak like Suzuki invite in for a drink?"
Kenji looked at the receipt in the evidence bag. Kuro-Sawa Development.
"Someone he thought was a partner." Kenji said. "Someone he thought he could trust. Suzuki provided the money. The partner provided the land."
Kenji pocketed the evidence bag.
"Manjiro, we need to find out who runs the Kuro-Sawa project in Chiba. specifically, the one displacing farmers."
"You think the partner is the killer?"
"No." Kenji said, heading for the door. "I think the partner is the next target."
"Why?"
Kenji stopped at the door, looking back at the pyramid of money.
"Because Suzuki was 'Greed.' He took the money. But the man who takes the land? The man who burns the homes of the poor to build a factory?"
Kenji's eyes were dark.
"In the Edo period, there was a specific punishment for those who oppressed the peasantry. For those who stripped the land and left the people with nothing but straw to wear."
"What punishment?" Manjiro asked.
"The Mino-odori." Kenji said grimly. "The Straw Raincoat Dance. They would dress the oppressor in straw, set it on fire, and watch him dance until he dropped."
Manjiro paled. "Fire."
"We need to move...!!" Kenji said, stepping into the hallway. "If I'm right, the killer isn't just punishing sinners. He's working his way up the corporate ladder."
As the elevator doors closed, shutting out the view of the luxurious, silent tomb, Kenji checked his watch.
15:45.
The rain outside had stopped, but the storm was just beginning.
Chapter 3 ends - Mino-odori begins!