Chapter 33

Tamako's heart sank. Why did it have to be Fushimi playing the murderer? If she actually caught him, she'd be the reason he failed the exam.

Then her thoughts flipped. This was the perfect chance to prove herself! Ever since he'd outmaneuvered her in art class, she'd been itching for a rematch. Now she could face him fair and square.

With all the instructors watching, Fushimi wouldn't be able to pull any tricks. Time to show the future famous detective—no, famous inspector—what she was made of.

Once she dazzled him with her reasoning, he'd throw himself at her feet, beg to become her partner, and swear off his delinquent ways. Partners who charged each other fees were far too cold, anyway. If he flunked this year, he could always retake the exam next year. By then she'd already be a senior officer at a koban and could file the paperwork to have him transferred under her command...

In her mind's eye, Tamako could already see Fushimi Shika snapping to attention and saluting her with perfect respect.

Meanwhile, Instructor Shirata called roll. Fifty-two cadets filed off the bus one by one, each ducking into a sedan marked with their team number. Every squad started from a different spot—caves, graveyards, dense forest.

Tamako drew Team Seven. Her teammates were Hideshige, Yoshimura Yu, and a girl with twin braids. Shirata himself would lead them. Supplies were spartan: two liters of water, a flare gun, a map, and a compass apiece.

The sedan wound up the mountain road and into the trees. Twenty minutes later, a faded "NO ENTRY" sign blocked the path.

Shirata motioned for everyone to get out. He tugged aside a rust-pitted stretch of barbed wire, showering vines and dead leaves onto the ground. Weeds had swallowed the trail; the road simply ended.

"We're on foot from here," he announced, clapping dust from his hands and pulling out a clipboard and pen. "Exam starts now."

"Eh? Just like that?" the girl with braids asked. "No briefing?"

Shirata didn't answer. He stationed himself beside the warning sign and began scribbling notes—almost certainly grading them on the spot.

Yoshimura clapped to get everyone's attention. As class leader, he declared, he had the most organizational experience, so he would direct the search. No one objected.

"The brief is right on your map," he said, glancing toward Shirata. "Red circles mark 'suspicious areas'; the green circle shows the last place the killer was seen."

The girl with braids finally noticed: two neat circles, one red, one green. Their destinations.

"The murderer probably started moving at the same time we did," Yoshimura continued. "That means we need to reach the sighting spot fast. Every minute we waste, the search area doubles."

He looked at Shirata again. "Everyone clear? No questions? Then let's move."

Tamako wondered why he kept checking the instructor. She followed his gaze: Shirata was writing furiously—clearly noting Yoshimura's leadership for extra credit.

So that was the game! Score points by looking good in front of the instructors. Tamako kicked herself for not briefing her teammates herself; maybe she could have earned a few marks.

They slipped through the gap in the fence and pushed into the underbrush, weeds brushing their knees.

The "suspicious area" lay only two hundred meters ahead—small, easily circled. They completed a quick sweep and found the "body" sprawled in the grass.

The braided girl shrieked and went white as parchment.

Tamako took one look and felt the color drain from her own face. This wasn't a dummy—it was a real corpse, and recently dead.

Hideshige and Yoshimura froze, stepping back, hands pressed over their noses, unable to move closer. A corpse is death made tangible; instinct screams to stay away.

"D-does this mean... there's been an actual murder?" the braided girl stammered, knees knocking.

While the others panicked, Shirata spoke up. "The body was donated by the county-hospital morgue. The family signed release forms."

Even the lowest-ranking patrol officer will encounter bodies. Better these cadets face one now, under supervision, than freeze at their first real crime scene.

Tamako drew a slow breath. She pictured the auditorium stage, the two familiar bodies propped against it—just as still as this one.

Nothing to be afraid of.

Yoshimura elbowed Hideshige. "You inspect the scene."

Hideshige pointed at his own chest. "Why me?"

"Chance to shine," Yoshimura whispered. "Want a good grade or not? You can't expect the girls to do the dirty work—show some class."

Hideshige wasn't buying it. "Then why don't you step up..."

While they bickered, Tamako strode forward, snapped on a pair of white gloves, and crouched beside the corpse.

"Hey—don't touch anything!" Yoshimura protested. "You'll contaminate the scene. Let the guys handle the messy stuff..."

Tamako tuned him out, slipping into the zone. Her hands moved quickly, her words faster:

"Male, two cigarette butts nearby, damp patch on the chest, no obvious blood. Ligature bruising on the neck—probable cause is mechanical asphyxiation. Pockets: half a pack of cigarettes, metal lighter, wallet—all good for prints. Wallet contains horse-racing tickets and 26,000 yen in change. Watch on the left wrist, but the shoelaces are tied right-handed, so he was right-hand dominant..."

Yoshimura cut in. "People wear watches on their dominant hand too. What's the point of guessing? Wait for the real examiners—"

"True," Tamako replied without looking up, "but the bow on his laces is right-handed. My deduction stands."

Left-handed and right-handed bows loop differently; it's not absolute, but it's a strong indicator.

She paused only to add, "Didn't you say we needed to hurry to the sighting spot? That means we can't linger at the crime scene."

Before the others could respond, Tamako rose, pressed her palms together, and bowed slightly toward the body.

"Rest in peace, Mr. Natsume."

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