pressed for details, he outlined what he had deduced about it from

viewing the remains of its victims, which left the impression that

both the police and the Bureau could have easily deduced the same

things, but had either failed to do so or would not admit what they

had learned.

He mentioned the discovery of the scale, which clearly implied

that the Bureau had somehow overlooked it—and they had, damn

it, though Akiro couldn’t imagine how—and when pressed for

details about that, he was forced to admit that it was a reptilian

scale. He hesitated to comment further, but under pressure, he

revealed that he had “reason to believe” that “the monster” (which

sounded much worse than “the creature”) was probably a dragon.

And then they pressed him about that and he was forced to

elaborate, giving his guesses as to its size and nature and his belief

that what they were faced with was a shapechanger.

They ate it up. And when they cut back to the anchorman, there

was a graphic on the rear projection screen behind him, an artist’s

conception of “the monster, ” which resembled some sort of

slathering, prehistoric beast straight out of a science fiction movie,

with a shadowy human figure behind it and the legend, “Ginza

Monster” superimposed over it in dripping red letters. And the

anchorman had closed with the statement that the authorities

seemed helpless while “the monster’s reign of terror” continued

unabated.

Akiro groaned and shut off the TV. His wife came up and set a

martini down before him. She sat down on the couch beside him.

He looked at her gratefully and downed half of the drink in one

gulp.

“Is it that bad?” she asked.

He shook his head with resignation. “It’s an absolute disaster, ”

he said.

“The media always exaggerates. You’ll solve it, I know you will, ”

she said supportively.

He grimaced. “I’m no closer to solving this case than I was the

day I took it.”

“A break will come. It always does.”