Chapter 71: Friendship Is One Thing, Business Is Another

“This morning! As soon as I received it, I contacted you right away,” Watanabe Osamu replied.

Aoyama Hidenobu lowered his head again, scrutinizing the photograph.

Watanabe Osamu, feeling slightly awkward, reached out and snatched the photo back. “A quick glance is enough.”

No man enjoys having another man stare at his naked body for too long—well, except perhaps those with a particular inclination.

“I just came from a crime scene,” Aoyama Hidenobu said, lifting his gaze to Watanabe Osamu, his tone somber. “The deceased is the woman in that photo. She died approximately twenty-four hours ago.”

“What… She… She’s dead?” Watanabe Osamu was initially stunned; then his face twisted with anxiety. He grabbed Aoyama’s arm. “You’re in charge of this case, aren’t you? Please, don’t drag me into this! I don’t want to become a laughingstock!”

According to standard procedure, the police would summon everyone who had contact with the victim during that period. Watanabe had been particularly close to her.

If they discovered that the woman had secretly photographed their night together, Watanabe would have a clear motive for murder and would become a prime suspect.

Even if he were eventually proven innocent, the uproar would ruin his reputation.

“Watanabe,” Aoyama gently removed his hand, sighed, and said with a troubled expression, “I only just joined the Metropolitan Police today—I have no authority or influence. There’s even someone in the department who’s determined to oppose me. If I ignore a suspect as obvious as you, they won’t let it go.”

“Please, Aoyama, you have to do something! Think of a way!” Watanabe Osamu was sweating with panic, his face contorted in despair. “My wife has a terrible temper. If she finds out, the consequences will be unimaginable!”

Though Japanese men are known for their machismo, much depends on their wives’ temperament and family background. Unfortunately, Watanabe’s wife was strong-willed and came from a much better family.

It was precisely because he felt so stifled at home that he indulged himself in secret, needing an outlet for his frustrations.

“Ah, Watanabe, you must understand. I’ve just returned to the force, and haven’t even found my footing yet. Covering your tracks would be extremely difficult,” Aoyama said with a face full of worry and a deep sigh, before suddenly changing his tone. “So, Watanabe, you’ll need to pay extra!”

Brothers settle accounts clearly.

Personal friendship aside, business is business.

“Huh?” Watanabe was dumbfounded. The words sounded familiar—damn, wasn’t that exactly what I said a few days ago? He forced a smile through gritted teeth. “Actually, I felt bad for taking your money last time, Aoyama, and wanted to return it but never had the chance. Now fate has given me the opportunity. If you help me through this crisis, I’ll return that hundred million yen as your fee.”

Damn, if I’d known, I wouldn’t have taken the money back then.

At least it would have deepened our bond.

“Oh, Watanabe! You’ve got it all wrong!” Aoyama shook his head, disappointment and irritation in his voice. “What do you mean, ‘your fee’? Did I ask for it? I spent your money to do your business! Are you implying I’d take money from my own brother? What kind of person do you take me for?”

“Yes, yes, you’re right, Aoyama. I misspoke—I was clumsy with my words,” Watanabe apologized repeatedly. He didn’t mind paying; after all, he wanted to be friends with Aoyama, but when Aoyama helped him, he’d also insisted on paying. Mutual understanding—neither of them held high office, and it wasn’t easy to make a little extra on the side. What needed to be paid, should be paid.

“Don’t worry, we’re brothers—I won’t just stand by,” Aoyama declared, clapping him on the shoulder with gusto. After a moment’s reflection, he continued, “The person blackmailing you with the photos is most likely the killer. Agree to the transaction, lure him out, and once he’s brought in for questioning, I have ways to get the negatives and destroy them—preserving your reputation.”

Helping Watanabe also meant helping himself.

Since Masako Mikami had taken these photos, it was clear she’d intended to use them to blackmail Watanabe from the start.

And for the killer to know Watanabe’s identity, he or she must have been acquainted with Masako Mikami and learned of it from her.

The motive for murder, perhaps, was to claim the photos for blackmail alone.

“Alright!” Watanabe nodded repeatedly, then recalled something. “By the way, the other party left a number for me to call. When I rang, he asked for two hundred million yen, gave me a day to prepare, and said he’d contact me tomorrow about the transaction.”

“Was it a man or a woman?” Aoyama asked.

“A man,” Watanabe replied. “He sounded young, probably between twenty and thirty.”

“Write down the number for me—”

“No need to check the number; he used Masako Mikami’s phone,” Watanabe cut him off, immediately guessing Aoyama’s intention. “The killer didn’t just take the photos, but her phone as well.”

“Well then, Watanabe, I’ll take my leave for now. I’ll contact you if there’s news, and if the blackmailer calls again, let me know immediately,” Aoyama nodded, ending the conversation and standing to go.

Watanabe rose to see him off and bowed deeply. “Aoyama, I’m counting on you!”

“Don’t worry. You’ve helped me—I’ll do all I can for you,” Aoyama replied, turning to leave.

The door slammed shut.

Only then did Watanabe Osamu lift his head, exhaling and wiping the sweat from his brow.

Indeed, beauty has brought misfortune through the ages!

He turned to his desk, sat down, and opened his diary. For the nth time, he began to reflect and admonish himself, vowing to abstain in the future. He ended the entry with: “Lust is the source of self-destruction and disgrace. I must guard against it!”

…………………………

Yamamoto Hisashi was discharged from the hospital today, unable to wait a moment longer.

As a lecher, how could he endure the loneliness of a hospital stay? He hadn’t even had his bandages removed before leaving.

Of course, his injuries weren’t serious.

“Hisashi, shouldn’t you stay in the hospital a few more days?” Mrs. Yamamoto looked at him anxiously.

But Yamamoto Hisashi was irritated. “I know my own body best. Instead of nagging, how about reopening the flower shop and hiring a pretty girl? That would cheer me up far more.”

His unpleasant encounter with Seiko Aoyama had left him smoldering with anger, needing someone to vent it on.

He only enjoyed preying on respectable women—the feeling of forcing them to submit was an addiction he couldn’t resist.

“I’ve already posted the job ad. Someone will respond soon,” Mrs. Yamamoto replied.

“Enough, stop holding me.” At the hospital entrance, Yamamoto Hisashi shook off his mother’s hand and strode off alone, muttering, “You walk even slower than I do.”

Mrs. Yamamoto wasn’t offended at all. She stood where she was, watching her son walk away, a smile creeping onto her face.

But in the next second, her smile froze.

A car struck Yamamoto Hisashi as he jaywalked across the street. Though the vehicle wasn’t moving fast and no severe injuries appeared to result, Yamamoto lay on the ground, refusing to rise. He cursed loudly, “Are you blind? Didn’t you see me? Pay up! If you won’t, then run me over properly, or you’re not leaving today!”

Mrs. Yamamoto, who had looked panicked, was now relieved. Knowing her son well, she realized he was feigning injury to extort money.

Her son was clever—quick-witted in any situation.

She hurried forward to help.

But at that moment, the refrigerated truck that had struck Yamamoto Hisashi started up again; the driver slammed the accelerator, running over Hisashi’s lower body before speeding away.

The suddenness of it stunned the bystanders.

“Aaah! My legs! My legs!” Yamamoto Hisashi’s legs were mangled, his trousers soaked with blood, twisted and limp beneath him. His face contorted in agony as he howled in pain.

“Hisashi! My son! No!” Mrs. Yamamoto, who had been about to help her son with his scam, was now devastated. She rushed to his side, collapsing over him, wailing in grief.

“Help! Please, someone save my son!” Their cries pierced the air.

Thankfully, the hospital was nearby, and medical staff quickly arrived to carry Yamamoto Hisashi—so recently discharged—back inside and into the operating room.

Meanwhile, Aoyama Hidenobu was completely unaware of this episode. He had already returned to the office.

“I’m telling you, the victim’s head was nearly severed. It was like something out of a horror film…” Sakai Ryosai, who had returned earlier, was regaling several colleagues with a vivid account of the crime scene.

“Deputy Chief!”

The next instant, everyone stood and saluted.

Aoyama nodded calmly in acknowledgement, then addressed Sakai: “I’ll handle this case myself. Sakai, you’ll assist me. The rest of you, attend to your own duties.”

He didn’t want too many people involved—exposing Watanabe Osamu’s involvement would be disastrous.

“Yes, sir!” came the unanimous reply.

Kaneshiro Heiji pursed his lips, suspecting that Aoyama wanted to solve the case alone to make a name for himself right after joining. But having heard Sakai’s account, he knew there were no witnesses or surveillance. Solving the case wouldn’t be easy.

Let Aoyama try to show off.

He’d be watching for him to make a fool of himself.

“Deputy Chief, with just the two of us, this’ll be difficult!” Sakai approached Aoyama’s desk, lowering his voice anxiously.

Aoyama shot him a cold glance.

If only Fujimoto and Nakamura were here.

They would never have said something so useless.

Unfortunately, every department had its quotas. To bring them in, he’d have to move two people out.

Aoyama’s gaze landed on Kaneshiro Heiji and Takizawa Mahora. He resolved to get rid of them as soon as possible.

Seeing that Aoyama didn’t respond, Sakai pressed on, hoping to impress upon him the difficulty. “The apartment’s security cameras have been broken for a week and haven’t been repaired. The building’s guard says he didn’t see any unfamiliar faces come in.”

“Are you finished?” Aoyama asked.

Sakai immediately fell silent.

Aoyama said, “Let me worry about these things. Your job is simply to follow my instructions.”

“Yes, sir!” Sakai bowed in apology.

Aoyama waved his hand, “Call and see if the person who reported the crime has regained consciousness.”

“Oh, I already checked. She woke up a while ago,” Sakai suddenly remembered.

Aoyama decided this man wasn’t entirely useless after all; barely seated, he rose again and said, “Come with me.”

Though he merely needed to wait for Watanabe Osamu to lure out the killer, gathering more information could only help.

The person who reported the crime was Masako Mikami’s friend—perhaps she could provide clues about the murderer.

The two men left the office.

Moments later, Kaneshiro Heiji also slipped out.