indicated a black leather chair in front of the desk. Fugisawa sat.

“Can I offer you a drink? Or don’t you drink on duty?”

“Scotch, neat, ” said Fugisawa.

Kobayashi glanced at one of the men beside the desk and he

immediately went to the bar and poured two glasses of an

expensive, single-malt whiskey.

“Cheers, ” said Kobayashi, raising his glass.

“First today, ” said Fugisawa, and took a drink. “Very nice.”

“I’m glad you appreciate it. I assume you’ve come about the

Ginza murders.”

“You’re well informed, as usual.”

“And you suspect the Yakuza?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Indeed? How refreshing. Am I to take it, then, that your visit is

in an unofficial capacity?” Meaning, of course, that he realized it

was official, but strictly off the record.

“That’s right. This is a bad one. I need some help, Don

Kobayashi.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Depends on how much help I get, ” Fugisawa replied. “You’ll be

serving your own interests, as well, but I’m sure we can work

something out. Within reasonable limits, of course.”

“Of course. What have you got so far?”

“Practically nothing, ” Fugisawa said, taking another sip of

Scotch. “You probably know as much as I do. Maybe more. Someone

or something is killing hookers and apparently consuming parts of

their bodies. And that’s about all we’ve got. Officially, it’s not even

my case. The Bureau’s on it.”

“So the rumors are true, then. It is necromancy?”

“That’s about the only thing we know for certain, ” Fugisawa

said. “The agent handling the case, a man named Katayama, has

determined that the trace emanations are extremely strong. He

suspects either an entity of some sort or a sorcerer who