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20131122

DAY ELEVEN 22:22PM


Fragrances 

Simon Light read through the police report. He sat on the desk, going through the files like he owned the world. Stone was pouring himself another cup of coffee, and taking a sip from it. It was late and he was tired. And he didn't feel like playing second fiddle to an Alphabet Man as well. A man that had apparently pulled a lot of strings and flexed a lot of muscle to waltz into a police station and tell the chief to take a breath of fresh air. 

"Eff-Bee-Eye," he muttered after taking a sip from the coffee mug. "Those bastards hear a rumour that a potential terrorist farts and they close down a city."

"Take it easy, Stone," Riveta warned him. "Piss a fellow like that off and he could bust your ass down to metermaid." 

"I don't look good in a skirt," Stone muttered before taking another sip.

Riveta chuckled. 

Simon stopped at a photo and focused in on the face off to one side. His eyes narrowed to study the face closely and a smile widened on his robot-like face. The smile made him seem not friendly, but menacing.

"Detective." Simon took the photo and dropped the rest of the file onto the desk, spilling some of the contents about. Simon saw that Stone and Riveta were approaching. 

"Find something?" Riveta inquired. Her curiosity was piqued; it had to be in order for her to continue without falling asleep.

"Where was this photo taken?" Simon asked. He held the photo in his hands like it was an ancient artifact and he was afraid to get it dirty. 

"Yesterday," Riveta said. "We always have a photographer get a few crowd shots on the off chance that the criminal returns to admire his handy work."

"You recognize a face?" Stone asked. He leaned forward to peer at the photo. 

"The woman there." Light pointed at a Japanese woman who appeared to be in her 30's.

"Is she dangerous?" Stone inquired. He couldn't see the dangerous look about her. He'd been on the force for 22 years and he had come to be a good judge of character. 

"Suki Fujimoria," Light said as he stared at the woman. "She's suppose to be dead."