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The walls of the police station are as welcoming as Chifuyu last remembers them, which is to say, not at all. They’re a horrible shade of gray, dreary and dull as if to remind the people working within that life doesn’t get any better and that, even when they think they’ve seen it all, you never really see it all.
Today he has an interrogation scheduled in room 3. It was never meant to be him interrogating suspects for a recent Toman-related murder, but Naoto had come down with a case of the post-funeral mid-life-crisis antics and had taken the day off to fulfill his long-dead passion of ghost hunting. Chifuyu wishes he’d been in the chief’s office when Naoto had requested the day off, so at the very least he could see his face when he explained the reason why.
Does he like interrogating suspects?
The short answer is no.
The long answer is that being former-Toman means it hadn’t always been him sitting with his hands free opposite a cuffed suspect- at one point that had been him. But someone has to fill in for Naoto, and Chifuyu didn’t have a choice. This is urgent, after all. This suspect is claiming to have information, and Chifuyu doesn’t really want to know which lackey is sitting in the room with his head ducked in shame.
Will the interrogation go his way?
He’s not sure. The lackey might recognize him as being a former Toman higher-up and might clam up and never speak again like some have in the past (one of the sole reasons Naoto took up that role more often than not).
He doesn’t have to wait long to find out. The walls change from a miserable gray to a depressing beige in the interrogation room as Chifuyu opens the door and is greeted with a new face.
Oh, who’s this?
He’s thin, eyes sunken, cheeks hollow. The handcuff keeping him to the table rattles as the suspect’s hand shakes and Chifuyu is cautious of the eyes that follow his every move as he sits. The banana-yellow streaks of hair remind Chifuyu of an old underling of his in Toman who’d go to the trouble of dying every new gray hair he’d get from the stress of working in the ninth circle of hell, and he wonders if this guy is going gray as well or if the yellow is a style thing. Judging from the tense face the suspect is making, he’s guessing he’s graying.
“... Alright. Hanemiya, you offered information about the recent death on Pier 17 in the South end. I’d suggest you start speaking,” Chifuyu says. He hopes to keep this professional, but Hanemiya’s giving him eyes that look stuck somewhere between lost and hopeless. Maybe he expected Chifuyu to react to his name, but it’s not really ringing any bells, so he waits some more until a lone tear rolls down Hanemiya’s cheek.
“... You don’t remember?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about. Also, if you don’t answer the question, I’m going to have to leave you in here for Det. Tachibana when he returns tomorrow?”
Hanemiya stumbles to his feet as best as he can with his wrist handcuffed to the table and practically falls right over that same table as he gets right up in Chifuyu’s face. He smells like gin- must’ve been drinking. No wonder he’s acting emotional. “What do you mean you don’t remember?!”
“I’m sorry-”
“Yeah, that’s all you ever are,” Hanemiya scoffs, “but Chifuyu, it’s me!” He looks like he’s on the verge of actually crying now. This is why Chifuyu doesn’t do interrogations- “It’s me! Your Tora!”
Wait.
Hanemiya. Where has he heard that name before? Hanemiya… Hanemiya Kazutora. His Tora.
“You… you rejoined Toman?”
“No, I lied to Tachibana. I don’t have information, just… stay out of this case. Please,”
“You know I can't-”
“Chifuyu. He’ll kill you.”