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There on the crest of the hill stood Genma, his chest puffed with pride. "Brought you up this way on purpose, behold …the Fire Temple,” he said flinging wide his arms.  “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Five steps behind him, a wearied Kotetsu huffed, "There was an easier way to get here, wasn’t there?"

“Maybe,” he laughed, “but you have to admit it’s majesty was worth the trip.”

Ignoring the murderous gleam in his friend’s eye, Izumo positioned himself between the men. “It’s not every day we see something like this Genma," he said.  "I don’t know how to thank you.”

Rubbing at the stitch in his side, Kotetsu grumped, “Well I do ‘Zumo.  Soon as I catch my breath... I'm gonna strangle him ... and then …you.”

“Remember, we’re doing this for Iruka,” came the snipped reply from the side of his mouth. “You’re right, Tetsu, they did a remarkable job of incorporating the additions.”

“Naturally,” Genma said as his yellow toothed grin stretched wider.  “The finest artisans and construction workers in the five nations make their home right here in Konoha.  You see that building over there?  That’s where the first group of monks used to spend their days meditating, studying bugei and practicing bujutsu; they were the Daimyo’s original guards and protectors of the cargo ships back in the early days. Bout thirty years ago, Hashirama Senju gifted the monks with another five acres of land and they … wait a minute Izumo, how’d you know about the additions?”

“Told you I was born in Konoha ... lived here for almost ten years. Before we moved they were almost finished with the newer buildings --”

“Oh, right,” Genma sheepishly said, “it’s coming back to me now.”

"Amazing, I can still remember the fragrance of incense they used on special occasions; the winds used to carry the aroma through the town on a summer's day--"

“Damn shame, that's what it was .. couldna happened at a worse time.”

“For cryin' out loud, 'Zumo! All this stoppin’ and startin’ is getting on my nerves.  Damn fool can’t’ stay on one subject for--”

“Shhh!  Sorry Genma … you were saying?”

“Hyuga girl's death ...what a hell of a way to kick off mating season.”

“Pardon?  A death relates to the temple's buildings and the ‘mating season', how?”

“Sorry … didn’t realize I said bit out loud.”

“There's a big surprise,” Kotetsu mumbled. 

“Half the territory is gonna come out to see her on a sad occasion – her tsuya is tonight, you know   Had she lived, a select few would’ve seen her at her brightest and best at this same temple …  on her wedding day, I mean.”

“Alright … we’re with you so far,” Izumo said, “but what about--?”  

“The 'mating season'?  We’re in it right now.  The time of year when rich folk get together with their lawyers and matchmakers and plan next spring’s nuptials, a combining of fortunes, if you will.  Konoha is near to ratifying trade agreements with Europe and that means new money’s gonna pour into the territory.  Well, enough of that romance and finance stuff.   That building over there is the lecture hall; you’ll find most of the monks this time of morning.  I’m gonna head off to the gardens on your left and hopefully catch the chief priest before he starts meditating. You know, I kinda feel sorry for the new kid,” he said as they began their descent.

“Let me guess, he’s not talking about the head priest, is he?”

“Oh, excuse me, terrible habit … people tell me I’m a 'stream of consciousness' man; that’s a nice way of saying I blurt out what I’m thinking.”

“Psycho … is a more accurate term.  Don’t know how much more I can take of this guy, Zumo--”

“About a year ago, yeah, that's right ...that young man came here to bury his father’s ashes,” Genma said.   “Heard he used to live in Europe too.”

Izumo and Kotetsu held their tongues, having agreed silence would squeeze more from their ‘fat little duck’.

“Comes from old money he does, they probably talked him into hosting one of their shindigs by now.  Makes sense … he’s filthy rich and a bachelor to boot,” he said tapping his pipe against the palm of his hand.  “Father left him that huge mansion near the cemetery, owns about fifty acres of land further to the west and he’s got a house full of servants too.  Businessmen been flocking around him like vultures ever since he got back; picking his brain, seeing if he’s got contacts over there they can exploit. Yep, I feel sorry for the new kid.”

“Well, I can tell you’re a world traveler,” Kotetsu mocked.  “Europe’s vast, think you could be more specific?”

“Hmm," he said tamping the tobacco down in the bowl, "somebody said he used to live in London.”

“Really? That’s exciting news!  There only about fifty Japanese people where we lived, so it’s possible we know him,” Izumo explained. “What's his name, Genma?”

“Names of folks I don't see on the regular get away from me, but I never forget a face.  Saw him the night he arrived, he said, patting down his pockets for a matchbox.  "Handsome lanky fella, I remember thinking how strange it was to see a head full of gray hair on such a young man; must be a family trait, that or somebody gave him a good fright.   Something’s wrong with his left eye too, eyepatch barely covered a wicked lookin’ scar.”  The biting smell of phosphorous and tobacco brought tears to their eyes as Genma puffed away.  “Surname is Hajame or Hataji … something like that.”

Kotetsu and Izumo turned to one another smiling broadly.

“Hatake,” they whispered.

 Recherché

One uninterrupted hour, that’s all she wanted; sixty minutes of serenity, that’s all she needed to clear her mind, reorganize her priorities and loosen that annoying crick in her neck.  With an eye to evading recognition, she’d left her hair unbound, exchanged the familiar green haori for a sapphire outer cloak and forsook her usual spot under a spreading tree. Unfortunately, even holding a tabloid newspaper before her face didn't keep the steady stream of townsfolk from stopping by to express support and share their concerns.

Should have followed my first mind and took myself home for a nap when I had the chance, she thought when the last of the well-wishers dispersed.  Might as well go back to the office … sure Ibiki’s there by now. As she stood, most of the newspaper slipped free of her lap, scattering itself over the bench.  With a mumbled curse and a quick pivot, she turned to retrieve it.  Suddenly, something sturdy collided with her hip and the ground rose to meet her. What the hell?

“Gosh, I’m sorry ma’am ... wasn’t watching where I was going.” A brown arm shot across her chest, shielding her from impact with the sharp gravel surrounding the bench; a warm hand caught her by the elbow, and the concerned face of a panicked young man abruptly appeared in her line of sight.  

“I’ll thank you to unhand me,” she gruffly said glancing down at the arm smashed against her bosom.

“Oh … pardon me. Didn’t hurt you, did I?   Again, I'm so sorry.”

Set to give him a piece of her mind once she could stand unaided, the moment she saw those kind brown eyes brimming with fretfulness, she lost the will to chew him out.   “I’m fine … question is,” she said pointing to his bloodied bandaged hand, “are you alright?”

Recherché

“Damn… more stairs Zumo?”

“What did you think those long white stone things leading up to the temple gates were ... flocks of seagulls?”

He stroked at his goatee as he stared off into the distance. “You’re a regular riot, but if you look at 'em sideways, like this,” he said tilting his head, “kinda look like slices of coconut layer cake.”

“Coconut layer cake?  Oh no, it’s happening again!”

Genma nervously looked back and forth between them. “What? What’s happening?”    Watching Kotetsu stagger off the steps toward an open area ringed with fruit trees to their right, he grabbed at Izumo’s wrist, “What’s wrong with him?”

Izumo waited quietly as Kotetsu tottered onto a patch of grass and unceremoniously dropped to his knees.  He’s playing this to the hilt.  Guess I'll have to step up my game too, he thought, turning to the mortified mortician.  “Having one of his spells,” he whispered.  “Before we left London, Kotetsu was diagnosed with a serious illness … narcolepsy, that's what the doctor said.  Ever heard of it?”

Genma shook his head. “Never, and I pride myself on keeping abreast of the latest illnesses.  Death certificates are legal documents don't you know; hafta provide an accurate cause of demise.  Narcolepsy,” he sounded out the word carefully, “that’s a new one on me. He’s so young." He paused, looking around Izumo to the shallow breathing man on his knees. "Seemed healthy he did.  “This illness ... it’s not fatal, is it?”

Excusing the hopeful note in the undertaker’s voice, Izumo kept a straight face saying, “Afraid not.  More than anything it's embarrassing.  He’s awful sensitive about it Genma, please … don’t tease him when he comes around.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it!”

Just then, Kotetsu keeled over, crumpling onto his side as Genma’s eyebrows disappeared under the hat’s headband.  “What’s happening to him now?”

“That my friend, is cataplexy . . . a sudden, uncontrollable loss of muscle tone triggered by intense emotion; usually happens before the narcolepsy takes firm hold of him. These episodes come on stronger when he’s overtired or famished,” he calmly said as they walked to the place Kotetsu lay.

“Had I but known he was in poor health ...would’ve taken the shortcut.”

“Relax, it’s not entirely your fault.  I should have made him eat something before we left his morning.  Come on, help me get him to that tree over there and onto his back.”

Dragged a short distance and shifted into a supine position between them, Genma leaned over Kotetsu’s body. “How long you think he’ll be out of it?”

“Oh ... I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he cautioned when Genma moved to check his friend’s pulse.  “Might attack you … learned that the hard way.  Just leave him be – in a few minutes or a half an hour, he’ll wake refreshed, completely unaware of how he got here,” he said leaning against the tree.   “Let's make the best of this situation, shall we?”

Glancing down on the stricken man, up to Izumo and finally toward the temple, Genma said, “Feel kinda responsible for his state, I’m real sorry about that.  But since the priest isn’t going anywhere, reckon we can take a short break.”  Flipping off his hat, he dabbed at the sweatband with his handkerchief.   “You two been friends a long time have you?”

“Yeah, the three of us practically grew up together.”

“Hmm ... explains why you look alike.”

“Me and Kotetsu?”

“No, I mean in profile, you and that Dr. Umino fella bear a striking resemblance.  I’d bet my last dollar you're related.”

“Good eye, Genma … our fathers were brothers, half brothers actually and--”

“Consanguinity,” he said, slapping his thigh. “I knew it! Hey, he’s coming to.”

He gave Kotetsu the once over and a subtle kick to the shin.  “I think not, Genma.  He’ll rest for another ten minutes or so.  As I was saying, those were fun times growing up in London, we got up to such mischief,” he laughed.   “What else can you tell me about the other young man … this Hajame person?”

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Genma turned the hat crown side down on his lap.  "Practically a recluse, I hear. Those creative types usually are; they sleep all day, work all night--”

“So, he’s an artist or musician, I take it.”

“Nah, he's the brainy type, used to be a doctor or surgeon - now he's a writer. Translates textbooks, fluent in four languages, used to travel extensively, so says the rumor mill.”

"I’m sure we know him then.  My father and uncle worked with anatomists and illustrators to translate English medical texts into Japanese. Well what do know about that? We travel halfway round the globe just to meet someone who probably lived across the street from us." He closed his eyes for a moment.  “A chance to renew an acquaintance with someone that knew my father; may his soul rest in peace.” His eyes popped open and he turned to Genma saying, “Sorry, I’m rambling, aren’t I?  You have no idea how thrilling the prospect of reconnecting with someone from our old stomping grounds--”

“No, no, I got it ... but as I said, this guy’s a hermit. Wouldn’t hold my breath waiting for an invitation to tea--"

"I'm sure you're right, Genma."

"While I'm at it, allow me to correct myself.  This guy isn't from London ... I remember hearing he came from a place called Cornwall . . . that’s a suburb of London, isn't it?”

“A town 250 miles southwest of London is hardly a suburb--”

“Right then ... maybe this guy isn’t who you think he is.”

“Yeah,” Izumo blew out a long breath, “maybe he isn’t.”

Suddenly, Kotetsu’s legs start twitching and his entire upper body shakes violently.

“Oh, my god Izumo!  Is he having a seizure?  Should I fetch a doctor?”

“No, he’ll be fine,” was Izumo’s distracted response.  “It’s probably an anger stroke--”

“What?”

“Look, you’ve already done us a huge favor, Genma; the temple’s in sight. I know how much lies before you today, so why don’t you just go on without us?”

Genma was on his feet in an instant.  "If you insist,” he said, considering the grimacing face of Kotetsu and the vacant eyes of Izumo, “you sure he’s gonna be okay?”

Note:

Consanguinity: relationship by descent from a common ancestor; kinship.

his 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. He 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; he was an easy read.

He stood out from the others because of his facial hair.  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 … 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, was 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--”

“This isn’t a Fire Country kamon. Where exactly was your mother’s family from, Doctor Umino?”

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 … well … 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--”

“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.  “The Inspector 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--”

“Won’t you ever listen?  I’ve told you time and again, soliciting law enforcement isn’t going to work,” he snapped, jerking his wrist from the gentle grip.  “We need to handle this thing ourselves!”

 “Tetsu, we need to work in conjunction with and through the proper channels,” Izumo said. “Like it or not, 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.

“Gentlemen, you have not, because you ask not,” Ibiki said.   “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 Inspector, I found out the elder Dr. Umino was a physician …I reckon you’ll 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,” 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 Inspector, 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, I wish you luck in the search for a being that doesn't exist outside of fairy tales.   What I’m looking for Dr. Umino, 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.  Sounds like you’re in need of an exorcist, not an officer of the law.  The monks at the Fire Temple might be intrigued by your father's research, why don’t you share it with them?”  Slamming the portfolio closed, he pushed it under Iruka’s hand.   “Once again, I bid you good day gentlemen.”

“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,” Ibiki said as he stood.

“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.