Work Text:
It’s not at all Sayaka’s usual type of case, but when one of her girls calls her about a string of murders across Europe, all with the same MO and all taking place within a week… well, consider her interest piqued. She doesn’t often take cases out of curiosity alone, but there’s just something about this one that draws her in. Call it her intuition, telling her that she needs to find this killer. Whatever it is, Sayaka’s on a plane out within twelve hours of receiving that phone call, and investigating a crime scene in Switzerland the next day.
The victim was an older man by the name of Dorian Buehler. He had a wife, two children, and a job at a factory. From what Sayaka can tell flipping through the police file on the case, there was nothing particularly significant about Mr. Buehler; he wasn’t a good person, he wasn’t a bad person. He lived, he worked, he died. Plain and simple.
Buehler died by an efficient slit to the throat. Just from looking at pictures, Sayaka can tell it was done by a professional. The angle, the depth. Cutting someone’s throat is a lot harder to do than it looks in TV shows. It takes experience to learn the technique. Even Sayaka, who’s studied forensics extensively over the course of her time as a detective, probably couldn’t do a job so clean on the first try.
So an assassin of some kind, maybe. Or just a general hit, since Buehler wasn’t a politician or public figure in any way. Whoever it was tracked him down to his office a couple miles out from his home. They must have watched him for a while to know that he stayed late at work every Thursday until hours after his shift had ended, finishing up tasks in the back of the warehouse. There were a few others around, but in the massive factory, none of them were close enough to stop the attack. None of them were close enough to hear him scream, or gurgle as he choked on his own blood on the floor.
Now, it’s been about a week since Buehler’s death. The blood is still stained red, the entire room untouched and roped off with caution tape. A Swiss police officer lets Sayaka inside the room and closes the door behind her with an annoyed grunt; Sayaka offers him a sickly sweet smile through the glass and walks up to where Buehler bled out.
There isn’t much here by way of forensic evidence. Sayaka knows that already. No murder weapon on the scene, and whatever it was was generic enough that they couldn’t deduce the kind of knife just from the wound. The killer left no DNA or fingerprints. Not even a strand of their hair. Whoever this is, they’re good at what they do.
Sayaka crouches down over the body outline. Buehler died curled up on his side. He was dead in a matter of seconds—Sayaka could tell as much just from the pictures of his wound—so it’s not like he suffered as he went. Whoever it was took nothing from the crime scene but what they came with. They came in, killed him, and left. A clean, in-and-out job. Sayaka is a bit impressed. This is professional. Evil, sure, and worthy of condemnation… but professional nonetheless.
A string of hits like this is certainly uncommon, though. And especially ones that are as similar as these. Buehler was the first on a list of six victims, who all were killed and found within the last week. There’s nothing to tie them together. They’re victims of different demographics and walks of life, all with different jobs and different kinds of families. One was even a homeless woman, found splayed on her back in an alley behind a restaurant. Truly, these individuals have nothing in common… aside from a shared killer and someone in the world who wanted them dead.
It feels pointed, though. Sayaka spaces out in her examination of the blood splatter, her thumb resting against her chin. Pointed, because nobody with this level of skill would go out of their way to be so public… unless they were trying to make a statement. Trying to get caught, maybe? But if they’ve killed before they could always just turn themself in. Then again, it’s not uncommon for mass killers to self destruct and try to cause as much harm as possible on the way out… Sayaka doesn’t think this is that, though.
She blinks herself out of her thoughts when her eyes catch on something peculiar in the blood. A single, ridged print in the stain, like the heel of a high-heeled shoe. The squiggly lines that run down the small square are distinct enough Sayaka thinks she would recognise them if she saw them on the shoe itself. Had someone on the crime scene been careless enough to tread right through the blood? Or…
Sayaka pulls out her phone and snaps a picture, then does the same on her work phone. She tucks both into her purse and does one last sweep of the crime scene before deciding she has nothing else left to investigate here. There are more scenes to investigate, and Sayaka’s gut is telling her that she just found something really important. She better not waste any time.
Sayaka goes down the list of victims in the order that they died. Switzerland is located right in the center of all the countries where people died, so from there she goes to Italy, then France, then Belgium, then the Netherlands. The last country on her list is Germany, where she finds the same heel print as she found on all of the rest of the crime scenes. It almost feels intentional, with how methodically each one has been placed; not always in the blood, but always somewhere near to the body, whether in a mud puddle or a patch of drying paint just feet away.
The obvious conclusion is that the killer is a woman, but of course the culprit could just be leaving the marks to mislead her or whoever else decides to work this case. Sayaka’s not enough of an amateur to make guesses about gender based on something as small as that. Still, it gives her pause. It’s a clear link between the cases, putting the MO aside completely, and even if the culprit hasn’t worn the shoe in question… owning the shoe alone should tie them to the scene of the crime.
After Germany, Sayaka has one more country she wants to visit. Her intuition alone leads her to board a train to Austria the evening after she investigates the final crime scene. She could be completely off base, of course; she has been before, after all. Not even Sayaka’s intuition is fool-proof. But she has a nagging suspicion as to what the killer’s plan is for their next murder, and if she’s right… well, maybe she can intercept it. Or maybe she can be on the crime scene before the blood has had time to dry.
She arrives in Austria so early in the morning that the sun hasn’t even had time to rise yet. Too wired to sleep, Sayaka makes her way to a 24-hour café and sits herself by a window, alternating between sips of her coffee and watching the sun rise over the horizon. Then it’s back to work.
Unfortunately, Sayaka really doesn’t have any way of figuring out who the next victim is going to be. Those who have died before have all been completely different, individuals seemingly picked out of the population at random. Of course Sayaka wants to prevent any further killings, but the fact of the matter is that she has no way of predicting when the killer is going to strike next. She spends the morning after arriving in Vienna wandering the city, occasionally making small talk with the locals and for the most part keeping to herself.
Eventually, her lack of sleep starts to catch up with her, and Sayaka decides to get some rest back at her hotel. As she walks down the busy streets, hands tucked into the pockets of her winter coat, she becomes aware of a tingling on the back of her neck, an odd tightness in her chest. Her body’s warning signs, that someone is watching her. That something is going to happen.
The feeling of eyes on her hasn’t gotten less pleasant through years and years of detective work, but Sayaka at least has the grace not to let on that she knows she’s being watched. She slows somewhat, reaching into her pocket for her phone, and mulls over what to do as she pulls it out. Escape to somewhere with cameras, maybe… but if it’s the killer she’s been tracking watching her right now, Sayaka wants to use this opportunity to catch them. It wouldn’t do to make a clean escape out of self-preservation.
Tucking her phone back away, Sayaka continues at the pace she was going before. She lifts a hand and crooks two fingers in a backwards wave, counting on whoever is following her to see it, and then cuts across an alley on her left. The streets are crowded, with waves of people going in either direction, but if Sayaka is right… somewhere more isolated will work better for both of their purposes.
And Sayaka is right. Just as she’s reached the middle of the alley, an equal distance from either sidewalk, there’s a rush of wind behind her. A hand grabs her by the wrist and pulls her hard, spinning her around and pushing her face-first into a wall. Her arm is twisted behind her back, and as Sayaka gasps, her head swimming with the sudden movements, she feels cold steel pressing into her throat.
Oh. Cute!
“Hi there,” Sayaka says, in English. She’s a bit breathless, betraying her nerves, but her racing heart could have done that anyway. “A hello, how are you would have worked just fine too, you know.”
The hand on her wrist shifts, but the knife on her neck doesn’t budge in the slightest. Sayaka chances a look down at it. Hmmm… yup. That definitely is the knife that was used to kill Buehler and all the others. So this is her guy.
How thrilling. Still, Sayaka maintains a neutral tone as she speaks again. Any shake in her voice, well, surely anyone would be scared in a situation like this, right?
“So you’re the killer I’ve been tracking? I suppose you’re going to kill me now. I’ve been quite impressed with you so far, you know. You really leave no evidence. That kind of meticulousness is rare for a serial killer… usually they get sloppy after the first few. Or start out sloppy and only get that far from being blood thirsty. I don’t think you’re that kind of killer, though.”
She’s rambling. She can’t help it. Sayaka always feels a bit manic when she’s on the edge of a breakthrough, and now is no different; even with her life in danger, Sayaka’s eyes are wide, alight with interest. So much for seeming nervous.
To her surprise, after shifting again, a voice speaks in Japanese from behind her. “Well, I’m no amateur. You’ve probably guessed that already, though, if you could figure out who I am from just the knife.”
A woman’s voice. A young woman’s voice, even—maybe even Sayaka’s age, and she speaks with no accent. Sayaka turns her head as much as she can afford in this position. She can’t see much, but blonde waves flash in her peripheral. Interesting.
“I’d thought you were a woman too from the heel prints you left, but I wasn’t counting on it,” Sayaka admits, also speaking in Japanese now. She adjusts her position on the wall, and the killer lets her. “Anyone can buy high heels at the store. For all I knew, you were an old man leaving me a red herring.”
“I thought about that while I was doing it,” the killer admits with a slight laugh. “I guess I could have used something more gender ambiguous… but I would’ve felt totally lame using ugly shoes to sign my work, you know? A girl’s got to have a point of pride.”
“Sign your work… you’re truly despicable,” Sayaka comments, smiling. At the huff of laughter from the woman behind her, Sayaka continues, “So… I hate to cut this short and all, but are you going to kill me? Because I would love to ask a few questions if that’s the case. Given that I’m going to die anyway.” And if she can free her stomach, she can press the emergency button on her cell phone and let her girls know what’s happening. Even if they don’t get here in time, they can avenge her. Surely they’ll find some kind of evidence on the scene here. Sayaka only chooses the best to work with.
Her strategising is cut short by a sigh from the killer, and then all of a sudden the knife is pulled away from Sayaka’s throat. Her wrist is squeezed.
“No need for that. Honestly, it would be a total pain in the ass to kill someone so high-profile… with the kind of geniuses who surround you, too, I’d get caught in seconds, and nobody’d be merciful to the person who killed the Maizono Sayaka. There’s just no way.” Sayaka hears rustling as the woman behind her moves, perhaps flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Besides, it’d be totally counterintuitive if I slit your throat right now, ‘cause I actually want your help.”
That catches Sayaka off-guard. “Huh?”
“You won’t sprint out of here if I let you go, right? Detectives are all suuuper curious by nature… surely that’s enough of a sale’s pitch to get you?”
Sayaka doesn’t know why this woman didn’t just ask that in the first place, avoid the whole knife business. Then again, perhaps using the knife was important too; no faster way to say both I’m the killer you’re looking for and if I wanted you dead you would be dead all in one. Sayaka nods, lifting her free hand to show she isn’t crossing her fingers.
“Sure, sure. You’ve got my attention. I promise I won’t try and turn you in after seeing your face, either.”
A snort. “Well, that’s reassuring.”
Sayaka’s arm is released, the pressure removed from her back. When Sayaka turns around, she comes face to face with a beautiful Japanese woman her age. Blonde hair falls into her deep blue eyes, framing her softened features, and tumbles from the tall twintails she has it pulled up in. She’s wearing light makeup and a puffy winter coat. Her nose is slightly reddened from the cold. If Sayaka saw her on the street, she’d probably get a crush before she guessed that this woman is a seasoned killer.
Even with the knowledge she has… Sayaka doesn’t feel scared. Just… curious. She folds her arms across her chest and leans into the wall, raising an eyebrow. She does smile, though, to show the other woman that she’s listening.
“So, what is it? I’ll have to ask your name, too, if you can even give me that.”
“Enoshima Junko,” is the immediate reply. “It isn’t my real name, so you can look me up if you want to after we’re done here, but you won’t find anything.” Junko shrugs, cooly examining her nails. “I get if it’d like, make you feel better, or whatever, after I held a knife to your throat. I won’t take it personally.”
Sayaka hums, a hand coming up to touch her chin. “Let’s not move too fast… we’ll see how charitable I’ll be when we’re done here. It is smart of you to use a fake name, though, I’ll give you that.”
Junko smiles then, teeth blindingly white and sharp. “Like I said, I’m not an amateur.” Her smile relaxes into a bored look, her blue eyes darting off to focus on the far wall. “To tell you the truth, Maizono-san… I was hoping I’d get your attention. I had a suspicion I would, but just in case I had the news of my killings sent somewhere I knew one of your people was staying, counting on it getting back to you. I didn’t think you’d get on the case so quickly, though!”
“You made me curious,” Sayaka admits, chuckling lightly. “So many expert killings in so few days… practically a death per day, all in different countries. Not just anyone can pull that off, you know.”
“I’m not just anyone,” Junko agrees, grinning again. “I’ve done some research about you, y’know? I know how smart you are, and how unwavering your sense of justice is. You’ll do anything to take a killer to task, and if they don’t get convicted…”
Junko trails off, but the meaning behind her words is obvious. Sayaka recalls an old man with grey hair and eyes that lingered, who smiled pleasantly in court but made her friend Ayaka shudder with only a look. He’d shouted soundlessly when Sayaka pulled the knife from his back.
The smile doesn’t leave Sayaka’s face. “I do what needs to be done,” she replies. “Of anyone, mercenary ought to understand that.”
“I do,” Junko agrees. “They’re only rumours, of course. It’s not like I knew for sure… but that’s exactly why I had to talk to you. I knew I’d know if I saw you.” Her eyes sharpen, and though Sayaka doesn’t flinch, she sees something lurking behind them. Something formidable. Enoshima Junko is not someone to be underestimated, she can tell. “I wasn’t lying when I said I needed your help, Maizono-san. I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who can help me.”
“Hmmmm. Well, you certainly have my attention.” Sayaka tilts her head to the side. “Tell me about those people you killed, and what you want from me… and I’ll decide what I want to do from there.”
The alternative might be dying, of course, but Sayaka is willing to accept that. She’s always known she’d die someday upholding her personal sense of justice. Helping someone evil just to survive… Sayaka would rather pull the trigger herself.
Junko doesn’t seem cognizant of Sayaka’s internal monologue. Perhaps that’s a good thing. She just pulls a folder out from inside her jacket and hands it to Sayaka. As Sayaka flips through, Junko recites.
“Dorian Buehler, aged forty seven. Hired a hitman to kill a single mother who was in line before him to get a promotion. Adriana Zullo, aged twenty four. Watched a young couple she knew get gunned down and accepted hush money on the grounds that she didn’t really like them anyway. Philippe Gosse, aged thirty. Lured at least fifteen people to remote areas to be killed off by hired killers.” Junko pauses, her arms folding. “Do I need to keep going?”
Sayaka hums back, shaking her head. “No, no… I quite get the idea.” She pauses on Zullo, thumbing the woman’s black and white portrait. Only a year older than Sayaka, this one was. “All people you couldn’t convict, I presume… even in Buehler’s case, there was no evidence linking him to the scheme… probably paid using cash and only spoke in person.” Of course, Sayaka heard about the death of his coworker… but that was written off as an accident. “How frustrating.”
“Totally.” Junko lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Of course, I only know about it ‘cause I’m just as scummy as all the rest… I’m the killer myself in most cases, you see.” She smiles bitterly. “But I want out, and the only way I’m going to get out is if the people who know me are put away for good. I could kill them all, but you get pretty tired of all the death after a while, y’know?”
“I can imagine.” Sayaka looks up at Junko. Beneath her light makeup, Sayaka can see lines of exhaustion underneath the woman’s eyes, crinkling her brow. Junko is still smiling, but it’s a tight look. She could be lying, of course, but Sayaka doesn’t think so. Her intuition is telling her that Junko is being honest… and it’s impossible to fake that kind of tiredness. “How old were you when you started, Enoshima-san?”
“Ten.” Junko turns away. Her bangs fall into her eyes. “I didn’t know what I was getting into. And now I can’t get out.” She glances back. “I don’t completely expect to, really. At a certain point it just becomes a part of you… and I kiiinda don’t deserve to leave, anyway. After all, I killed six people just to get your attention… even if they were shitty, that doesn’t mean they deserved it.”
Sayaka shrugs. “Nobody really deserves to die… but in the pursuit of what’s right, I find almost anything to be justified.” She looks back down at the file, then up again. “Alright, then. I’ll help you. I presume you work for some kind of organisation… will it be enough to dismantle it?”
“In theory.” Junko shrugs. “I might get killed before then, but it’s the thought that counts, y’know?”
“Not if they don’t know you’re connected.” Sayaka shakes her head, then tucks the folder into her purse. “I’ll be burning that. I want you to tell me everything you know, and then after that, it’s back to business as usual. You love your job. You aren’t defecting any time soon. If anyone asks about my name, you haven’t heard it. If you were hired to kill me, you would. Got it?”
Junko quirks a single, painted brow. “So like… if I did get assigned to kill you, would you let me?”
“Hm. I might.” Sayaka’s lip quirks. “Depends how much work I have left.” She smiles properly now, meeting Junko’s gaze while it’s back on her. “You did a brave thing, Enoshima-san. The right thing. I’ll make sure you don’t suffer any consequences for it.”
“You can try,” Junko huffs. Still, Sayaka catches a hint of a smile twitching onto her face before she smothers it out, shaking her head. “Everything I know is going to be a preeetty long story, I hope you don’t have any plans after this.”
A laugh escapes Sayaka at that. “Well, what would you know. I caught the killer I was after. Suddenly my schedule’s been freed up.” She pulls her notepad from her purse and readies her pen. “Start whenever you’re ready, please.”
Junko only eyes her for a moment longer before she starts to speak. She’s very casual about it, like this is normal for her… and it must be, but Sayaka can still tell that it pains her deeply to recall some of what she says. All Sayaka can do with her hands full is shift close enough to press their shoulders together, and though Junko stiffens, she doesn’t push Sayaka away. Sayaka is going to call that a good thing.
She’d thought this case was special. It’s not that she’d expected to be siding with a killer or anything, but… well, someone is only rotten to their core when they choose to do something evil for their own benefit. Someone who’s killed to survive, who’s killed those who deserved it… Sayaka has no quarrel with them. She’ll protect them, just like she’d protect any other one of her girls. She’ll protect Junko, as much as the world will let her—as much as Junko will let her.
…She certainly has a long road laid out in front of her, though. Sheesh. Nobody ever said detective work was easy.