D. N. Angel Fan Fiction ❯ Touch ❯ Chapter 4 ( Chapter 5 )

Disclaimer: Still using Jedi mind powers…

 

Touch

 

Chapter 5

 

“How goes the investigation, Cassandra?” my superior's voice squawked through the cell phone I held to my ear. It may have international service, but even a cell phone has limits, and this one had reached its. I could barely hear Agent Corvan over the static and white noise.

 

“Not very well,” I answered, speaking slowly and, hopefully, clearly. “It's a complete mess. I can't see what the victims never saw, and they never saw him clearly. The best I could give the sketch artist was something that closely resembles the Unabomber.”

 

If I could've seen him, I bet he was frowning. “Are there any leads at all?”

 

“Well, not really. All I've gotten is that he, at one point, drove a gray Honda, year and model unknown. Do you realize how many of those there are in this country, by the way?” Before he could comment, I continued, “Also, he has no scent whatsoever, which would be a great identifier if we actually had a suspect. And then, there is the profile, which is also unhelpful. A male in his thirties or forties. He is probably a successful man, and meticulous. Most likely, he's some type of artist, or thinks he is. He's a rage killer, judging from the number stab wounds and the ferocity in which he executed the attack, but he still maintains the presence of mind to not leave any evidence. Although, I'm starting to doubt that. He keeps calling them `swan'. He's not killing them because he's angry, or it's not his main reason. He wants to make them beautiful, display them. He fancies himself a great artist, and the girls are nothing but canvases.” By the end of this, my voice had become analytical, detached. It's something that you gain after your first few cases, if you're lucky. You can't survive a job that forces you to face evil if you can't be detached.

 

Corvan sighed loud enough for me to hear, even on through the horrendous static. “Work with what you can get, Cassandra. What about this thief? Does he look good for it?”

 

“From what I can gather, he's pretty nonviolent. Flashy and arrogant maybe, but he's not the type. Besides, he's too young. I got the same impression as the profilers. Our guy is older, experienced. How's the search on VICAP going?,” I rattled off. Crossing my legs, I tried once again to find a comfortable spot on this bench. Why do these things always have to be so evil? The gun tucked in the back of my maroon skirt wasn't helping things either.

 

“Not very well. The systems down at the moment. Some sort of bug.” Silence. “So you have nothing?”

 

“Nope. Not only do we have almost no forensics or suspects, I can't get anything off the victims that's useful. Also, I'm getting bad vibes off of the police chief here. Really bad vibes.”

 

“Bad vibes as in..?”

 

“Bad vibes as in women's intuition, not an actual vision.” Deciding that mentioning the whole thing with Hiwatari wouldn't be all that relevant, I skipped it and moved on. “And to top it all off, I'm almost out of Advil.”

 

“You've only been there for three days,” he remarked, sounding thoroughly amused.

 

“I'm feeling a tad stressed.”

 

Corvan was quiet for a few moments, and then asked gravely, “When is he due to snatch the next one?”

 

A pang of panic shot through me at the thought of another girl going through what the last three victims had, and I answered, “Three days.”

 

“Pick up the pace, Cassandra. That's an order.”

 

One that I had no trouble wanting to obey. “Yes, sir. I'll report again in twenty-four hours.” Corvan was the only one that I'd ever call “sir”. He'd earned it.

 

We hung up without any further good-byes.

 

Weary, I stood up and shambled back to where the rest of my class was having a “picnic”. Frankly, it was nerve-wracking to have to play at a normal high school student when I should be working round the clock to catch this psycho. But I have my orders. All the girls that had been killed went to schools in the area. Azumano High was the only school he hadn't hit yet. The idea was that I'd be able to spot him or something. So far, that theory was shit. But then again, we had no others.

 

On that train of thought, my eyes singled out Hiwatari where he leaned against a tree. He seemed, surprisingly enough, to be speaking heatedly with Niwa Daisuke. Both of them looked serious, which was very out of place with Niwa. He was, in all aspects, a happy-go-lucky kind of guy. They were as different and fire and ice. And, as far as I could tell, he was the only person that Hiwatari spoke to at school, with the exception of me.

 

The Harada twins, who had appointed themselves as my new friends, somehow managed to appear at my elbows with out my seeing them and they proceeded to steer me to a picnic table, which interrupted my observation time. I was careful to keep my face from betraying my panic when I looked at he younger twin, Risa. She fit the victim's profile to a T. Dark brown hair, large brown eyes, pale skin, and a delicate build.

 

And as bad and watchful as I felt when I looked at her, I still did not like her as a person. She's one of the very stereotypical people you'll meet. If only she had blond hair, blue eyes, and a cheerleading uniform. Not that I have anything against cheerleaders. I have great respect for anyone who can do the acrobatic and tumbling tricks that they can do, as I have difficulty pulling off even a cartwheel.

 

But I digress. Harada Risa was one of the most annoying people I'd ever met. As terrible as it sounds since she could be dead girl number five, I can't stand her. All she talks about are fashion and her love, the Phantom Thief Dark. I asked her why in the world she felt that a thief was good boyfriend material. Frowning, she'd answered that he was a perfect gentleman. Not to mention he was incredibly good looking.

 

I think this is where I'm supposed to say something like, “Ah, young love.”

 

However, she was now chatting enthusiastically about the new exhibition we were going to see. “I can't wait to see some of the jewels!” she gushed, popping a slice of fish into her mouth.

 

“Oh, Risa,” Riku sighed, “can't you think of anything other than jewelry?” She shook her head, but she was smiling somewhat indulgently at her twin. Looking at me, Riku continued, “I want to see the new paintings they brought in! What about you, Simon-san? What do you want to see?”

 

Restraining myself from answering harshly since I really couldn't give a damn, I said, “I'm not much of an art appreciator.” Not a total lie.

 

“Why not, Simon-san?” a boy asked from behind me.

 

Turning, I faced Niwa Daisuke. “Art just never appealed to me.” That was a lie.

 

Like any kid, I'd loved finger painting and such. But what I'd really loved was sculpture. Finding something new in a chunk of stone had always been attractive to me. And the sound of a chisel chipping away at rock has a soothing quality. I'd quit doing it shortly after I'd joined the Bureau. I had no talent, and it seemed childish to hang on to it after being told again and again that I was doing “adult work” and therefore had to act like an adult.

 

“Do you like art, Niwa-kun?” I inquired, working really hard at seeming “normal”.

 

“You bet!” he responded.

 

“And he's a really good artist!” Riku jumped in affectionately, hugging his arm and smiling brightly.

 

Daisuke blushed and mumbled something incomprehensible. He was a sweet guy, not to mention a tad shy. He and Riku, I'd found out, were quite the couple. Like everyone else, I thought they were perfect for each other.

 

At that moment, the teacher, Yamada-sensei, called everyone over and we were ushered onward to the art museum.

 

The museum was a large white stone building. Roman pillars and wide stairs decorated the otherwise plain décor of the structure, and it was further draped in a variety of banners that I assumed were advertising their latest acquisition. A new collection of works from Europe and Africa. Some of which was supposed to be very old and very beautiful.

 

Inside, we were divided into ten person groups by Yamada-sensei, and then were given leave to wander about as we please, just as long as we “behaved like mature young people”. Isn't that an oxymoron? Or is it a paradox? Hm…

 

The Harada twins, Niwa, Saehara, Hiwatari and four others were in my group. Oh joy.

 

Slowly, we made our way through each exhibit, pausing to write notes in our notebooks like good little students. And, eventually, we entered into the new exhibition wing. After a quick, though confusing, conversation between the ten of us, we split up and I immediately went in the opposite direction as the rest of them.

 

A hand caught my leather clad elbow, and I stiffened instinctively. Whirling, I found Daisuke looking at me curiously. “Why don't you come with us, Simon-san?”

 

Discreetly removing my arm from his grasp, I answered, “I'm a solitary kind of girl, Niwa-kun. I'd rather go alone.” I smiled at him for good measure. He was just trying to be nice.

 

Daisuke looked at me a minute more and then smiled back. “Are you sure?”

 

“Hai,” I assented.

 

“Then I guess we'll see you in an hour.” With that, he made his way back to Riku's side as she gazed in awe a beautiful painting. I think it might have been a Rembrandt, but I wasn't sure.

 

Some wild looking tribal masks from Africa caught my eye, so I headed towards them, but I was stopped short as I made a turn around a glass display case.

 

The most magnificent statue I'd ever seen was positioned against the wall. A man wearing a warrior's jerkin and holding a long dagger standing in a relaxed position. It was clearly sculpted by a master of the art. The lines created by the musculature and bone structure were clean and elegant, but still preserved the masculinity of the subject. Very strong featured countenance with a hint of delicacy. Detailing down to the fingernails, it was incredibly lifelike. But what really struck me was the expression. Smugness. This knife wielding man was pleased with himself. Another version of the Mona Lisa's smile. But there was also a distinct feeling of coldness to it.

 

Tempted to touch it, I absently tugged at my gloves and had to stop myself from taking them off completely. There was just a compulsion to touch it. I wanted to feel the texture of the stone under my fingers, see if it was as smooth and perfect as it looked.

 

“Fascinating, isn't he?” Hiwatari inquired dryly, causing me to jump. I hadn't noticed him sneaking up.

 

“Incredibly.” My hands itched to touch it. “Who did it?”

 

He was quiet for a moment. “No one knows. The collector who donated it doesn't have any records to how his family acquired it.” There was a slight softness in his eyes and voice that was almost undetectable.

 

“How strange,” I muttered, edging closer. “He's beautiful. It's too bad there's no artist to credit.” I leaned forward and inspected the statue again. My hands still itched, and my head was starting to pound uncomfortably. “The artist must have been a woman, you know.”

 

An eyebrow quirked up. “Why's that?”

 

“Very few men, and I literally mean one in ten million when I say `few', would put such a touch of fragility in the countenance of an otherwise completely masculine warrior. A man would rather go for the more macho route. That or the artist, male or female, was young enough to recognize vulnerability and include it. Though they also included a certain degree of coldness to him.” My head was really starting to hurt…

 

With a sigh, I backed away and slung my bag off my shoulder, digging through its contents till I found my bottle of Advil. Fishing two capsules from the container, I swallowed them dry one at a time. There were six pills left.

 

“Headache?” he questioned.

 

“It happens a lot,” I informed him, tucking the practically empty bottle back into my pack. “Speaking of pain, how's your back?”

 

“Fine.” He shifted his shoulders uncomfortably, clearly not accustomed to having people ask about his well-being.

 

“You ever going to tell me who he is?”

 

He knew I wasn't talking about the sculpture. “Why is it so important that you know?” he asked, voice harsh but quiet.

 

“Because it feels important. My gut tells me it's important. And I've learned over the few years I've been at this to listen to my gut. My intuition is second only to my ability to see. It's helped in a number of…situations,” I answered truthfully. Why lie to him?

 

“No. I'm not going to tell you.”

 

Thought not. “Then I'll change the subject. How are those rookies coming along with compiling a list of each victim's movements in the week before they were snatched?”

 

“They're working on it,” he said, eyes still focused on the stone man. “Kudo said that he and Hatagami would have the lists by tonight for you to cross-reference. I assume you'll insist on visiting each relevant site?”

 

“I always do.” I contemplated whether taking two more Advil was wise. “I'm also going to poke around where each of them was abducted from. I might pick up something there.”

 

Hiwatari faced me, expression impassive. Noticing the dark circle under his eyes, I wondered if anyone was getting more than three hours of sleep these days. I know I wasn't. “Do you think it'll help?” he asked. There was a thread of strain his voice, of doubt. I doubted too. My visions were usually more helpful than this.

 

Who was this son of bitch?

 

“I honestly don't know. Every time I have some sort of expectation in a case like this, I find myself sorely disappointed, so I try not to expect much. It saves a great deal of emotional energy that way.” I looked him in the eye when I said it. Not knowing why it was so important to do so; I was trying to ease the transition from thief-catching to psycho-hunting. Or maybe I just liked his eyes. I'm pretty sure I'm shallow enough for that to be a reason. Hiwatari, despite his prickly attitude and “aura”, has terrific eyes.

 

Of course, I am being completely objective in my observation.

 

…Alright, I'm being mostly objective. So sue me.

 

“Hey, Hiwatari, since we're stuck here for forty-five more minutes, why don't you come with me and check out some of the paintings? I think one of them is a Rembrandt,” I invited, walking away.

 

After some hesitation, he followed me.

 

I don't have to be a solitaire all the time, do I?

 

I paced around the squad room restlessly, fuming. Where the hell was he? He was late! Hiwatari had told me that he would be here, in this room, at eight o'clock. Well, it's nine-thirty and he's not here! He'd left a message with Yamakawa that he'd be late, and that was it. No explanation, no nothing.

 

“Yamakawa!” I barked, clenching my fists. This was important, damn it! People were dead!

 

“Uh…” He seemed unnerved by my raging. With clear reluctance, he asked, “What can I do for you, Tantei?”

 

“Find Hiwatari so I can kick his ass across the Orient,” I growled, trying my best to do the visualization exercise my shrink had recommended for anger and stress management. Lack of sleep affected my concentration however, so the results weren't very calming.

 

And to add to my irritation, I was still dressed in my ridiculous school uniform. I hadn't headed back to the B&B after school, instead, I had come straight and I've been working since then. There were so many reasons to hate this outfit… Let's see, I avoid skirts as a rule since they get in the way all the time, and I looked absolutely silly in the sailor suit rip-off. Maroon is one of my least favorite colors. I'm even wearing knee socks.

 

I never wear knee socks.

 

“Tantei?” Yamakawa inquired tentatively, sidling up cautiously. I must have been looking very scary for him to be treading so lightly. Or maybe he was also a hater of sailor suit rip-offs. “The Commander got called by Inspector Saehara for an emergency. Dark's warning letter was discovered just two hours ago and they've been trying to set up more security.”

 

How. Dare. They.

 

With deliberately angry and forceful motions, I left the squad room, pausing only to grab the keys to Yamakawa's police cruiser. Said officer followed me carefully, probably trying to avoid being collateral damage when I snapped. “Yamakawa, where is he?”

 

“The art museum. Can I ask why you took my keys?”

 

“Arigatoo.” I didn't bother to answer his question. Why else would I have them?

 

Exiting police headquarters, I breezed passed two other officers who were presumably on break. One of them had a cigarette dangling out of the corner of his mouth and was in his fifties. The other was probably thirty-ish and was nursing a cup of black coffee.

 

Getting into the car, Yamakawa finally spoke up. “It's against regulations for you to be driving my car, Tantei. I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to get out of the driver's seat.”

 

I didn't care, and told him as much in response. Starting the engine and locking the doors, I began to pull out of the lot. I heard Yamakawa ask the two officers by the doors to follow me to the museum or something else that was vaguely useful.

 

I didn't catch the men's replies but I expect they sounded something like, “Sorry, kiddo, I'm on break.”

 

The last thing I heard was Yamakawa calling after me, “Do you even have a driver's license?!”

 

Why sweat the small stuff?

 

Twenty minutes, three almost accidents, and about a hundred close heart-attacks later, I reached the crowd surrounded museum and was vowing that I wasn't going to touch the wheel of another vehicle without some severe driver's ed courses. Who would've thought that driving was so hard?

 

The crowd was all swooning women, curious and admiring men, fascinated children, and scoop-hungry press. People were giggling, talking rapidly, and whispering amongst themselves. The overall effect was a cacophony of noise that was accelerating the rate of the new headache beginning behind my eyes.

 

Pushing and shoving my way through the mass of humanity, I finally was able to struggle to where some officers were holding back the crowd with words and barriers. I flashed my badge and ID tag, and got instant access to the scene.

 

I wasn't past the thresh hold of the barricade when I heard people screaming “Dark!” and “There he is!” and “The Phantom Thief is here!” Numerous fingers were jabbed skyward and I followed with my eyes.

 

Shock rippled through me as I watched Dark Mousy, the Phantom Thief, actually fly in, wings spread wide to ride the air currents. I thought that was just gossip… A fairytale…

 

Guess not.