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The third murder was in West L.A., in a townhouse near the Metrorail Glass Station, and the victim’s name was Backyard Bottomslash. This victim was another female—age twenty-six, midway between the first and second victims—and she was a bank clerk.

Once again, she had no connections with Believe Bridesmaid or Quarter Queen at all. It seemed unlikely they had even bumped into each other on the street. She died from loss of blood—massive hemorrhaging. Strangulation, beating, and finally stabbing—each time a different method of murder, giving the unnatural impression that he was trying something new with each killing. And he left no useful clues at any of the scenes. The only other thing to investigate was the link between them, but

since none was found—which was very strange for murders of this type—the third murder left the police at a complete loss. The killer was far better at this than the police were.

I have no intention of praising Beyond Birthday, but in this case I will give him the credit he is due. Oh, right—in addition to the Wara Ningyo, there was one other major similarity between the scenes— they were all locked rooms. Just like an old mystery novel. The detectives investigating the case had

not put a lot of value on this particular aspect of the case.. .but when Naomi Misora received the file on the case from L, this word was the first thing that caught her attention.

When Misora began investigating the case—not as an FBI agent, hut as an individual under L’s supervision—it was the day after she received L’s request, August 15th. She was off duty, so her badge and gun had been taken away from her, leaving her with no more rights to weaponry than any ordinary citizen.

But she did not particularly mind—Misora had never been the kind of agent to throw her authority around. She was a little put nit, and her mental condition was a little choppy, so she was not in I he best condition to tackle the case, but in that sense her emotional slate was similar to L’s own. In other

words, she was not good at working in groups, and her ability shone brightest when she escaped he bindings of organizations and worked on her own—which in him might explain why she had a pinch of resentment coloring her eclings toward L.

But on August 15th, at just past noon, Naomi Misora was on Hollywood’s Insist Street, the scene of the first murder. Looking up it the house, which seemed a trifle large for a man who lived alone, Misora reached into her bag, took out a cell phone, and dialed the timber she’d been given. She had been told it was scrambled fivefold and completely safe. Not only safe for L, but also safe for the off duty Misora. “L, I’ve reached the scene.”

“Good,” the artificial voice said, as if he’d been waiting for her.

Misora briefly wondered where L was, in what kind of environment he went about his investigations, but she quickly realized that it made no difference either way.

“What should I do?”

“Naomi Misora, are you inside the building or outside?”

“Outside. I’m headed toward the scene of the crime but have not yet entered the yard.” “Then please go inside. It should be unlocked. I’ve arranged for that.”

“Thanks.”

Well prepared.

She grit her teeth, resisting the urge to say something sarcastic. Normally she would have considered being prepared a point worth respecting, but she found it hard to accept that anyone was this thoroughly prepared.

She opened the door and entered the house. The victim had been killed in his bedroom, and Misora had been involved in enough investigations with the FBI to make a fair guess at where that room was located from the outside. A house like this usually had the bedroom on the first floor, so she moved accordingly. It’d been two weeks since the murder, but they were obviously keeping the place clean. There wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere.

“But, L...” “What?”

“According to the data I received yesterday—not to state the obvious, but the police have already examined the scene.”

“Yes.’

“I’m not sure how you did it, but you already have the police reports covering that.” “Yes.”

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