Page 10 of So Bleak

“Yeah, that’s what I said. I guess it interferes with nerve signal transmission or something. Basically, it kills you.”

“Ah. That clears it up.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

He pulled into the parking lot of an upscale shopping center in Rittenhouse Square. The shopping center was nestled in between several hotels ranging in price from expensive to exorbitant and clearly hoped to extort money from well-heeled travelers by offering a tasteful selection of the latest in designer fashion and trendy eateries.

Not that it was making much money now. Sushi Amaterasu was near the center of the strip mall, meaning the yellow police tape surrounding the entrance was clearly visible from the street, as were the two police cruisers parked in front of it.

“Nice place,” Michael said.

“I’m sure it was.”

The two of them got out of the car and Faith felt her good mood fading. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy her job, but it felt wrong to be cheerful when she was investigating a violent murder.

Michael seemed to feel the same way. “I hate to wish myself out of a job, but it would be nice if there wasn’t a psycho out killing people every few weeks.”

“Yes. It would.”

Faith’s mood darkened further. That was another downside to this job. It was never done. You never truly “won.” You would catch some killers, but there were always more. You would save some lives, but you couldn’t do anything about the lives already lost.

She had put Franklin West behind bars, but at the end of the day, West was only a colorful symptom of a disease that raged despite society’s best efforts to cure it. Still, she had chosen this job because she could handle the struggle. Where others gave up, she fought on.

Turk barked, and Faith smiled grimly. “Exactly what I was about to say boy. Let’s go catch a bad guy.”

CHAPTER FIVE

In Faith’s experience, there were three kinds of police detectives: the career minded individuals who were more concerned with making lieutenant and eventually captain than with actually solving cases, the bitter veterans who had once been eager gumshoes but had lost their spark when they realized that there would always be another killer, and the tired veterans who had also lost their spark but didn’t resent the fact so much as they waited until they were fully vested in their pension so it could be someone else’s problem.

The man who greeted them at the door of Sushi Amaterasu was one of the tired ones. His half-closed eyes sat above dark circles that sagged nearly down to lips that also sagged in a weary frown. He shook their hands and gestured into the restaurant. “After you.”

Faith and Michael walked inside the restaurant. Turk looked at Faith, and she nodded. “Go ahead, boy.”

Turk dipped his head, then trotted ahead, stopping every now and then to sniff around and catalogue the scents he picked up. Faith looked around at the restaurant.

It was indeed very trendy. The décor was probably intended to be traditional but instead looked like a bad mixture of anime fan boy culture and faux-authentic samurai chic. The furniture and lighting were arranged in jagged semi-crystalline shapes that Faith guessed were supposed to look cyberpunk. The walls were covered with calligraphy and paintings designed to resemble the famous Japanese artists of the Eighteenth and Nineteenth centuries.

“At least there aren’t any bonsai plants,” Michael said softly.

Faith nodded agreement. She turned her attention to the path of destruction weaved by their victim. Several chairs lay overturned and one table had been broken so the top lay on the ground and leaned against the table’s post.

“The victim was sitting over there,” Detective Howard said, pointing at the furthest of the disturbed settings. “He starts freaking out and jumps to his feet, knocking his chair over. Freaks out for a moment, then starts running this way.”

“Was he running for the exit or the kitchen?” Michael asked.

"Not sure. He collided with a few diners, and then eventually one of them tried to give him the Heimlich. That didn't work, of course, so he ends up pitching forward there"—he pointed at the broken table—" and it's lights out."

“Who called it in?” Faith asked.

“Head chef. He’s here now. We cleared him—cleared everyone here, actually—but he agreed to come back to talk to you guys. He’s upset, of course. The restaurant is new, and this could ruin him.”

“He’s the owner too?”

“Co-owner. He’s asked us not to reveal that the cause of death is poison because he doesn’t want people to think his food is tainted.”

“And you’ve determined that it isn’t?”

“Not yet. We sent samples to the tox labs, but it’ll be a few weeks before they come back.”

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