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Recherche	By : Eggburtshamslice Category: Naruto > Yaoi - Male/Male > Kakashi/Iruka Views: 4188 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Recherché : Murder Morn

This sort of exchange typically happened in the town square or squad room of the constabulary; never before was anyone bold enough to violate the sanctity of his private office.
Great … three emotional nutcases; either they’re incredibly gutsy or incredibly stupid… I’ll find out in a minute.
With a sigh, Ibiki steeled himself to take this intrusion in stride, after all, confrontation was the norm on ‘murder morn.’
Let’s see now … Umino, you’re brash, like all Europeans ... yet the pattern and rhythm of your speech is unmistakably Japanese. Interesting.
Umino… the surname didn’t ring a bell, nor did he remotely resemble any of the families Ibiki knew in the territory.   He was of average height and weight for a man in his late twenties, early thirties, with chiseled facial features and a stocky build. There was a flicker of indomitability in those cocoa colored eyes, one that was in disharmony with the silly grin on his lips.
What a contradictory fellow; your eyes blaze with anger, your cheeks aflush with embarrassment.   What’s this now? A hostile stance, a straightening of the shoulders; is he bracing to attack me or buttressing himself against further opposition or interruption?
“Pardon me Inspector … hardihood was never my intention,” he said rising from a swift, formal bow.
Ibiki watched the young man smooth the heels of his hands down the lower part of his jacket. Nouveau riche … a middle-class upbringing made him mannerable at least.
Ibiki urged him to continue with a slight incline of his head.
Well aside from a flash paper temperament, the only other thing that stands out about him is the brown; everything about the man was shades of brown. His skin, the color of black tea mixed with cream; the sort of fellow who could disappear in a milling crowd and yet command the attention of everyone around him. The thin, crooked scar bisecting his face was of a sepia tone and his hair, slicked back with pomade and gathered in a low tail had a rusty, auburn tint.
Gracefully standing erect, Iruka looked him squarely in the eye and smiled. “I’ll not mince words sir. We have four weeks in which to hunt down and exterminate the killer. Should that window of opportunity pass, the only witness to another slaying will be the next full moon.”
So, a blusterer then. He knows when the killer prefers to strike, just like everyone else in the territory does.
Another subtle tilt of the head acknowledged the truth spoken, a flick of his wrist granted the three men permission to retake their seats.
It’s all too neat. Their sudden appearance, the information they’re eager to share … was this a small mercy from the gods ...an answer to the prayers of those who believed the deities were omniscient and benevolent?
His secular nature prevented rejoicing; he’d seen men of their ilk before.
Mouthpieces ... shills for a killer, posing as learned and reasonable men. Conservatively dressed marionettes they were, morally and ethically bankrupt men hiding behind a veneer of respectability; mortgaging their humanity for a few pieces of gold.
As to the portfolio lying in the middle of his desk, it was as a bucket of bloody chum, bait to draw him close, to entice him to open wide his mouth in the hope of extracting information. Then again, if they weren’t puppets of a madman, they were something far more despicable; thrill seekers – perverse, unnaturally fixated on or sexually aroused by accounts of the macabre. Still, they were nothing like the usual wild-eyed conspiracy theorists, the ultra-religious fear mongers or the moonstruck plain folk which daily paraded through the outer office demanding to be heard. They reeked of salt air, obviously come from afar to gorge themselves on the rancid fat of thrice damned superstitions and old wives’ tales.
The indiscriminate buzz around town, the rumors flittering through the shops, seedy taverns and the docks … suddenly the things Ibiki took for granted these past months, began gnawing at his conscience.
Those tales from the dark side he couldn’t quarantine had finally wormed their way into the ears and out of the mouths of braggadocious sailors, washing up on distant shores like gaudy trinkets of gospel truth. For those with an unslakable thirst and ears itching to hear tales of the mysterious and dangerous Orient, the endless repetition of these embellished fabrications was manna for the masses abroad.
And if this triumvirate of dandies know of Konoha’s misfortune, there’s no telling how far and wide the news has spread. No stopping the venom poisoning the minds of those who could bring trade aspirations with Europe and the Americas to a screaming halt.
The very idea set Ibiki’s teeth on edge.
Recherché
The measured click of the brass pendulum in the squat grandfather clock, the unvaried tick of its second hand … these were the only sounds in the tense room. But silence and occasional eye contact were the only offensive tools a good investigator needed in the interview process. If Ibiki said nothing, did nothing for long enough, his subjects would reveal their true intentions via subtle nonverbal cues. With his elbow propped on the chair’s armrest, his brawny fingers, one curled over his lips, the others pressing into his cheekbone, Ibiki’s eyes darted between the leather bound folder on his desk, the unperturbed Dr. Umino, the engaged Mr. Kamizuki and the sullen Mr. Hagane.
Hagane Kotetsu; an easy read.
He stood out from the others because of his facial hair. As trivial as that might seem to anyone else, for Ibiki it was an indicator of a paradoxical personality. His goatee, thin, neatly trimmed, perfectly symmetrical and jet black, was in stark contrast to the hair on his head; thick, dark brown and unkempt. From the time he took his seat, Hagane’s heel tapped uneven rhythms against the floorboards; his fingers, when they weren’t brushing at his goatee, drummed at his thigh. Nervous, unable to sit still for longer than a minute … a man of action then; one given to ‘doing’, rather than thinking overmuch. There was an earthy shrewdness surrounding him, a feral instinct for survival his two intellectual pals lacked. His eyes, blacker than a starless night and deeper than a pit in the ocean … this one was hiding something. Of the three, Ibiki could relate to Hagane; a man more at ease in the wide-open grasslands or tramping through the moors. Plucked from his natural element, handcuffed by social etiquette and friendship, his eyes flitted over everything in the office, as if he were searching for an escape route.
The last young man, Kamizuki Izumo was most interesting. A gallimaufry of his friends with a unique viewpoint. He bore a passing physical resemblance to Umino, and possessed a guardedness more pronounced than Kotetsu’s. A regal bearing; never once averting his eyes from mine, as if determining my worth; this wasn’t haughtiness, but the mark of a self-assured man. Just like Hagane, there was a dangerous edge behind those intelligent, piercing brown eyes; like Umino, he had book smarts, fortified with a healthy dose of common sense.
The sound of heavy hurried footsteps in the hallway disrupted his thoughts and brought the acid in his empty stomach to a boil; someone moving with that kind of urgency always meant bad news. There was a light rap on the door a second before the smiling man in black entered.
“Oh! Excuse me gents. Didn’t realize you were in a meeting. Heh ... so quiet in here, felt like I was back in my own shop for a minute.” Tapping the brim of his hat, he nodded to the young men as he walked toward Ibiki’s desk. “Keep your seats ... I’ll just be a moment.”
Genma was grinning like a hungry cat in a room full of lame, juicy mice, as he triumphantly waved a slip of paper before the irritated Inspector’s eyes. “Representatives of the family just left my place so I got you a positive identification. You know, I never could tell those Hyuga girls apart … ‘stair steps’ they were, practically identical if you ask me.” Turning his back on Ibiki, he stuck out his hand. “Name’s Shiranui Genma, coroner and undertaker. “I know everybody in town … can’t say I’ve ever seen you three before though.”
Ibiki rolled his eyes. Genma, always flapping his gums or poking that pointed nose into things that don’t concern him; damn fool’s about as subtle as a herd of elephants in a glass factory.
“Umino … Dr. Umino.   My friends, Hagane Kotetsu and Kamizuki Izumo. We just arrived from England last night.”
As their conversation, rather Genma’s monologue continued, Ibiki made himself concentrate on the form in his hand; the soft leather of the chair back melted around him after he read the first three lines of text:
Hyuga Hitomi, twenty-three years of age.
Cause of death, exsanguination.
Manner of death, homicide.
A beautiful young woman, a lifetime of opportunity and happiness stretching before her, was now a cold, impersonal statistic. Hers had been a life of privilege, she wanted for nothing, yet she defied her family, striking out on her own, determined to serve the underprivileged, neglected and the forgotten. Quite a ruckus accompanied her decision to intern as a pediatric nurse in the slums of London, or so he’d heard from the mounted patrolmen.
Scarcely a month passed since she returned home.
As he closed his eyes, Ibiki could still see her mother standing on the wharf, weeping bitterly as she bid bon voyage to her eldest daughter. And on a warm autumn night one year later, the entire family turned out, welcoming her back on that same wharf; he could still see her, running down the gangplank, falling into the embrace of her parents clutching a nursing certificate in one hand and a valise full of memories in the other. Elegant horse drawn carriages lined up by the wharf that night to fetch the entourage to an extravagant welcome home party. How odd it seemed in retrospect; her parents, anxious about her safety while she wandered about a foreign land, yet, they allowed her to wait unaccompanied for a ride home one fateful moonlit night. Now, this vivacious young woman lay on a porcelain slab in the morgue, fifty feet from the wharf. . . brutally slaughtered five miles from her ancestral home.
Casting aside the coroner’s report, Ibiki leaned forward, his eyes lingering on the unopened portfolio lying in the middle of his desk. Expertly tooled, its stitches weathered by time and careful handling, were of a darker brown than the case itself.
And Umino wants me to believe this piece of animal hide holds the key to a murderer’s identity?
In the very center of the case was a familiar kamon, one he’d seen numerous times in the military. Slowly tracing the raised emblem with his finger, he interrupted Genma’s rambling.   “Umino … that’s your surname correct?”
Iruka tilted his head, his smiling eyes falling on Ibiki’s finger as it hovered over the embossed design. “Yes, that’s right. Shimizu was the surname of my mother’s family. That portfolio, a wedding gift my maternal grandfather crafted ... it’s one of the few things I have left to remember my parents by.”
“Dead, are they?” Ibiki said pulling the portfolio closer to himself.
Every eye in the room latched onto him – Genma, stunned to silence by the crude tone of his voice, Kotetsu angrily fidgeting in his seat. The combined weight of Izumo and Iruka’s grief almost bowled him over.
“Yes, Inspector … they are deceased. My mother died years ago ... my father passed away in May of this year. That’s why it took us so long to arrive, I had to settle his affairs, close up the house and--”
“Where exactly was your mother’s family from, Doctor Umino? This isn’t a Fire Country kamon.”
Iruka’s eyes misted over and he swallowed hard before answering. “Water Country sir, they were buraku, tanners by trade; the finest saddle makers in the entire five country region--”
“Water Country, you say? Well … at least that explains your name.”
Kotetsu shot forward in his seat, “What the hell does that have to do with anything?” “Thought we came here to prevent another murder, not--”
“‘Tetsu … please,” Iruka hissed as he stretched out his arm to restrain his friend. “I’m certain our goal and his are one and the same.” His hand fell to his companion’s wrist and he gently shook it. “Come on now, he doesn’t know us from a hole in the ground … we barged into his office without a letter of introduction preceding us or a confirmed appointment--”
“Damn it Iruka! Won’t you ever listen?” Jerking his wrist from the gentle grip he growled, “I’ve told you time and again, soliciting law enforcement isn’t going to work.   We need to handle this thing ourselves!”
“No … he’s right,” said Izumo. “We need to work in conjunction with and through the proper channels. Like it or not ‘Tetsu, the constables will--”
“Get in our way and waste our time,” he huffed. “We know what we’re looking for and we know how to deal with it when we find it!   This meeting’s just going to end with him thinking we're crazy before he kicks us out of here!”
A terse conversation in an indistinct dialect ensued as Iruka and Izumo pleaded with a reluctant Kotetsu for patience.
“Dr. Umino you have not, because you ask not,” said Ibiki.   “Why don’t you tell me what you’re looking for … who knows? Maybe I can help.”
Kotetsu folded his arms over his chest while Iruka and Izumo exchanged hesitant glances.
“Genma … isn't there something, or rather, someone that needs your undivided attention?”
“No, but thanks for asking, Inspector,” he said, slipping his hands into his pockets and leaning against the desk. “Miss Hyuga will keep for a few minutes more, besides, I’m curious about what’s inside that solander. While you were ignoring us, I found out the elder Dr. Umino was a physician … so, I reckon you’re going to need my help deciphering the medical lingo in there.” Looking over at Iruka, he hastily added, “No offense, but you’re a Doctor of philosophy, not medicine, right?”
“Anthropology. My doctorates are in anthropology and archaeology, Mr. Shiranui. My father was a physician, however,” he said reaching for the portfolio, “later in life he became obsessed with the occult and paranormal.” Opening the leather case, Iruka slowly flipped through wrinkled, tattered pages filled with detailed drawings of wolves, bats and hideously deformed humanoid beings. Images of grotesque creatures sailed past Ibiki’s eyes until they came to rest on an ink splotched page filled with notes. “What we’re looking for is a class of demons known as Jiki-Ketsu-Gaki; wailing corpses who thirst for blood.”
Aha! I knew he had a screw loose somewhere, Ibiki thought.
“Well, good sir, I wish you luck searching for a being that doesn't exist outside of fairy tales.   What I’m looking for is a human being, not a phantasm or figment of an overactive imagination --”
“Jiki-Ketsu-Gaki have shape shifting abilities, they can transform into animals or take on the form of a living human being at will. Some of the oldest and most powerful of these beings can and do stalk their prey invisibly.”
“I’m certain they can, but that’s of no interest to me. Maybe the Fire Temple monks might be intrigued by your father's ‘research,’ because it sounds like you need an exorcist, not an officer of the law.” Slamming the portfolio closed, he pushed it under Iruka’s hand.   “Once again, I wish you good day Dr. Umino, Mr. Hagane and Mr. Kamizuki.”
“But, Inspector,” Iruka said as he stood, “I believe--”
“I said good day, sir!”
The noise of the office door opening was covered up by the sound of Ibiki’s booming voice. Silently, a tall, thin woman with short black hair approached and stood beside his desk.
“Morning Miss Shizune,” they all heard Genma say. “Not looking for me, are you?”
“Afraid not,” she said, bowing before the four men and then to Ibiki. “My apologies Inspector … the Governor requests your presence immediately.”
“We’ve just now adjourned,” said Ibiki as he stood behind the desk.
“If it’s alright with you Inspector, I wouldn’t mind having a look see at Dr. Umino’s research. Always been curious about the supernatural myself--”
“Perhaps some other time Mr. Shiranui,” was Izumo’s respectful response. “A visit to the Fire Temple wasn’t on our agenda, but as the Inspector pointed out, it might prove beneficial.”
Flummoxed, Kotetsu snapped, “But we’re supposed to go to the--”
“Come along ‘Tetsu,” Iruka said. “If we hurry, we can catch the monks before mid-morning prayer.”
Kotetsu angrily glanced between his friends as if he'd never seen either of them before.
“The hell’s the matter with you two?”
NOTES:
Indomitable: that cannot be subdued or overcome as persons, will or courage; unconquerable.
Aflush: fully or generously supplied with something.
Hardihood: audacity or impudence.
Secular: not spiritual; of or relating to the physical world; controlled by the government rather than the church or temple.
Paradoxical: having seemingly contradictory qualities or phases.
Moor: a tract of land preserved for game.
Portfolio: a large, thin flat case for loose sheets of paper such as drawings or maps.
Hitomi Hyuga: a conveniently disposable character; rest assured, I would never kill off the shy, yet strong-willed Hinata or her younger sister Hanabi.
Kamon: a family crest, a Japanese heraldic symbol.
Gallimaufry: hodgepodge, jumble, confused medley.
Shimizu: “Pure or clear water.”
Buraku or burakumin: “hamlet people,” an outcast group at the bottom of the Japanese social order, in the feudal era. These were people considered ‘impure,’ tainted by death because of the work they did (executioners, undertakers, butchers or tanners).
Solander: a case that held maps or other large documents. It was made to resemble a book, having the front cover serve as a lid. Genma incorrectly refers to the portfolio this way.
Jiki-Ketsu-Gaki: creatures of Japanese myth.   Because of the way they’re depicted as skeletal beings with distended bellies, abnormally small mouths and long thin throats, they are also known as “hungry-ghosts”; these nocturnal creatures or spirits have been cursed with an insatiable hunger or thirst for blood, in particular as a result of their bad deeds or the evil intent they possessed in their lifetime. Also known as classes of preta, Buddhist monks conduct a special day of observance in mid-August to remember the gaki.
Preta: often depicted in Japanese art (particularly that from the Heian period) as emaciated human beings with bulging stomachs and inhumanly small mouths and throats. They are frequently shown licking up spilled water in temples or accompanied by demons representing their personal agony. Pretas dwell in the waste and desert places of the earth, and vary in situation according to their past karma. Since 657, some Japanese Buddhists have observed a special day in mid-August to remember the gaki. Through such offerings of food and drink and remembrances (segaki), it is believed that the hungry ghosts may be released from their torment.
Gaki: hungry dead or spoiled child.
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