1
Where a detective goes, an incident follows.
This was something of a law in the world of detective novels, so it was occasionally teased 'you should never travel with a detective,' but in this instance, my way of thinking changed.
I see, given that was their livelihood, a detective's encounter rate with crime was undoubtedly far higher than the average person, statistically speaking; but if you tried to correlate that with them causing those tragic accidents and incidents, that was surely not the case. Far from it, a detective was capable of preventing a tragedy that would otherwise have occurred—they're capable of counteracting the trouble they encounter.
Kyouko-san taught me so.
From my heart, I was glad she was there with me—I doubt I'd ever be able to deal with this time's circumstances on my own. Unable to think of the measures to save Wakui's life, the blood loss would already conclude him as deceased, and flustered in a feverish haste, I might have remained their unmoving on the spot.
Being able to encounter numerous incidents meant she could cope with that many incidents—at the very least, Okitegami Kyouko was that sort of detective. She splendidly saved a victim.
Perhaps that would mean she saved the culprit as well—but that aside, I was greatly repentant on that point, and even if I wished to learn from her example, was 'The culprit is in our midst' not just a tad too far?
Atelier House.
A peculiar tower complex where every resident was a painters' egg.
A building whose very existence was questionable, but it was simply too soon to conclude the culprit was within it. Fastest detective she may be, but what basis did she have for that conclusion? Before I could ask that, the forgetful detective had slickly, quickly begun to move—continually grasping her speed was no easy feat, but I wasn't going to take my eyes off of her again.
The culprit is in our midst.
She returned to the building she had made the declaration to—and I followed behind.
2
While return she did, Atelier House had an auto lock, and there was a proper procedure she needed to go through to infiltrate—meaning, just as before, Kyouko-san used me as a stepping stool to climb over the parking lot fence and enter the structure.
However, I confuted that jumping over it was way too tomboyish, so I stuck my hands into the fence, letting her climb up my back like a ladder.
"I really do envy those with larger bodies. It's nothing but tight turns for me."
Kyouko-san said such a thing, but I personally wanted some better maneuverability myself—even if this hulking build had enough energy to spare, if I couldn't move it, it was of no use at all.
And to the complex basement we went—where a blood stain spread ominously across the floor.
When I thought of how someone I knew was collapsed there only a moment ago, my heart felt like it was being strangled. He had a bad mouth, I couldn't say he left a good impression—he was the person who created the reason I was fired… up to this moment, I was in a confused panic, but now that I could calm down a bit, I felt crushed by the scale of the incident that occurred.
As a guard, and as a person.
Despite that, it seemed I was the only one growing so sentimental, Kyouko-san had promptly gone into an on-site investigation.
Thrusting her hands all over as if it weren't already enough, flipping things, making a mess—that state of affairs really was more of a burglar than a detective.
"U-um, Kyouko-san."
"Yes?"
Continuing her search without turning around, Kyouko-san responded—she wasn't just swift, it seemed she could multitask. Certainly, when rescuing old Wakui, she was performing two or three tasks at once.
In that case, holding conversation with a giant as she investigated a scene might be right in her ballpark—emotionally, I'd have liked it if she at least looked at me, but there's a time and place for everything.
"Are you sure it's alright to scatter everything like that? Umm… when an incident occurs, I've heard it's vital to preserve the scene."
That wasn't something anyone taught me as a guard, it was just knowledge from cop shows, but I think it's classified as general knowledge.
On my question, Kyouko-san pulled her hands out of the wall-side shelf, raising them up high—when I wasn't looking, she had put on gloves.
She either carried them around with her, or one-sidedly borrowed a pair of work gloves from the atelier (they looked like work gloves, so for the fashionable Kyouko-san, the probability of the latter was higher), but for the time being, it seems she was saying there was no danger of fingerprints.
"I remember how it was scattered, so I can return it to normal later. Whatever the case, right now, speed is the priority."
We don't have any time, Kyouko-san said— she remembers how it was scattered, she threw it out to casually, but that was an intense line.
Yet even if I were to trust Kyouko-san on that point—in the first place, that wasn't the problem. It wasn't whether or not she could return it to normal afterward, I was trying to say Kyouko-san had no reason to investigate the basement like that.
With saving a life, yeah, that was an emergency so I could consider it natural no matter what she did, but after that was a different story—the investigation of the incident should be left to the police.
Kyouko-san's speed, meaning her momentum had dragged me into the mix, but what we had to do now was preserve the crime scene to the best of our abilities until the police arrived, and definitely not turn all the room's drawers inside out…
"The police aren't coming, you know?"
Kyouko-san said.
"I mean, I didn't report it."
"I see, is that so. I guess that works out then… what?"
Of course it doesn't. She didn't report? I mean…
"What do you mean you didn't report it?"
"No mystery about it, I said… what. I. Meant. There we go."
She wasn't answering rhythmically, at that time, she was meeting some difficulties in her work—rather than having difficulties, she was taking care of difficult work just fine.
Of all things, she was picking a locked drawer—opening drawers was one thing, but when she started opening up closed locks, she was finally just a thief.
She had tread into a domain where, as her compatriot, I had to stop her for real—I raced over; it was too late.
Kyouko-san succeeded in her picking, took out a clearly important-looking file from inside, and had already opened it at her chest.
"This is seriously bad, Kyouko-san—"
I spoke belatedly.
"— And why didn't you file a report? Did you forget?"
That was hard to imagine. After such perfect lifesaving measures… while carefully contacting the fire brigade, for her to forget to report it to the police, there was no way such forgetfulness could come to pass. It was quite clear Kyouko-san intentionally didn't report it—
"Though that'll only buy us some time."
Kyouko-san finished reading the file, and reached for the next document. Even if she was speed reading, that was way too fast—she was probably just skimming off just the main points; but skimming off art-related documents she was surely not an expert of was still considerably extraordinary.
"The wound in his stomach was clearly a stab wound, and the painting knife was left in… when the treatment is over, naturally, the hospital will direct the proper report to the police. With a hopeful estimate, that buys us half a day's worth of time—in that space, I want to investigate as much as possible."
"… But Kyouko-san. Shouldn't you leave the investigation to the specialists?"
"I am a specialist."
I'm a detective, after all, Kyouko-san said.
I mean yeah, a detective's also an investigation specialist, but even if that were the case, she didn't have the authority to investigate this one. That was likely precisely why she bought time without reporting… but the problem was why she went that far.
It was certain what she was doing now would get her told off later… played poorly, and it wouldn't just be a scolding, it was a deed that would grant her legal retribution.
Tentatively, as the one who found the body, and as a coworker of me, Wakui's bodyguard, perhaps this was an extension of the duties she was supposed to conduct anyways… even so, intentionally not reporting was in error of being the first responder, and at the present point, Kyouko-san had yet to be directly hired by old Wakui.
Meaning, when no one even asked her—she hadn't received a request, she had arbitrarily begun investigating the case. That was nothing praiseworthy…
What's more, something felt off. Among the detectives who appeared in novels, there were some who immersed themselves so much in a case they surpassed the boundaries of the law, and those with nothing but solving the mystery as their objective who wouldn't seek police cooperation—but that was only permitted in the world of fiction.
Hypothetically, if such a detective existed in reality, I couldn't see Kyouko-san as the type—it's not as if I knew her for too long, but if I had to say, I thought she had a high professional sense, with her ethics properly in order.
To distance the police here and investigate on her own, solving the case of her own accord and get the achievements—I couldn't think she held such petty notions either.
In the first place, this case didn't' look like such an appealing mystery to me—A break-in burglar stabbed the man he happened to run into, got cold feet and ran. Couldn't this just be one of those tragedies that unfortunately plague the world? At a glance, there didn't seem anything missing from the basement, but if it were a burglar who ran in fear, it wouldn't be strange if they ran without taking anything.
There were no whimsical mysteries to pull at the instinctual heartstrings of a detective—if I had to say, the old man who suddenly destroyed a piece displayed at the museum with his staff was far more mysterious.
Yet why did Kyouko not stop at just saving his life, instead going as far as to throw off the police to embark on her own investigation? Even if that culprit lived at Atelier House, that didn't mean—
"R-right, Kyouko-san. Can I ask you one question?"
"I do believe you've been doing nothing but asking questions for a while now, but… please, do go ahead."
"Why is the culprit in our midst?"
She declared it so naturally I felt overwhelmed, and I felt a considerable amount of persuasiveness, but come to think of it, there wasn't a single bit of evidence pointing it to be so.
Because the weapons stabbed in his abdomen was a painting knife, the painters are suspicious: not only was that not evidence, it wasn't even a basis—painting knives could be sold anywhere, and if you want to bring that up, there just as well could have been one in this room as well. The culprit used a painting knife in arm's reach to impulsively stab him, that was actually a reasonable expectation.
For argument's sake, if you expand the term, this apartment complex was a locked room, then you could call the residents with keys would could come and go through the auto-lock most suspicious, but just as Kyouko-san and I were able to infiltrate, it was hard to call the security of this complex solid by any stretch of the imagination.
… If I really had to say it, then the ones with the deepest suspicions as candidates to the crime, rather than the residents of Atelier House, were the intruders, me and Kyouko-san. Even I knew to doubt the first to come upon the body. It was the A B Cs of mystery…
"Take it easy, Oyagiri-san. I didn't make a dramatic show of, 'the culprit is in our midst' under such shallow reasoning…"
"I see…"
Shallow, when she called it shallow, she made me feel a tad downhearted for actually considering it, but this wasn't the time to be shocked.
"Have a look. At the place Wakui-san collapsed."
"Where he collapsed?"
I turned at her call—to the blood stain still reflecting a vivid fluorescent light. I felt I would reflexively avert my eyes. Was it because I couldn't look right at it, that I overlooked something?
"… If you're not feeling well, I don't mind if you take a rest somewhere.'
Perhaps sensing my mentality, Kyouko-san spoke mindfully—I appreciated the sentiment, but if I went all groggy while Kyouko-san was hard at work, just how shameful would that be for a professional security guard? At present, I'd failed in my professional duties twice in a row, and was already considerably deplorable, but—I couldn't show any further unsightliness.
"I'm fine."
I put on a strong front.
"You don't have to force yourself, okay? In my case, no matter what gruesome crime scene I see, I know I'll just forget it tomorrow, so on the contrary, you can say I don't have to worry about it—no matter the incident, I can never be traumatized."
I see, now that she mentioned it, that did seem like quite an advantage for a detective… but turning that around, no matter how many crime scenes she experienced, she could never grow accustomed to bloodshed. That she was the forgetful detective could never be the sole reason she remained firm—despite her fluffy air, she was fundamentally strong at the core.
I wasn't irritated to compete with her, but I really had to learn—that was what I thought.
"But Kyouko-san. I can't see anything strange about the spot Wakui-san collapsed…"
"Are you sure you're not mistaken?"
"… Yes. I don't think I'm mistaken."
I lost some confidence when she insisted it, but from what I could see, there was nothing but a tragic trace of blood—just from the present state, it was a scene that made it possible to think someone had just spilled paint over the area.
"Is that so? I think so too."
Kyouko-san answered like it was a trick question—then what, I thought and turned back to Kyouko-san. At present, she had a binder open, with her eyes focused on that—I thought she had already reached for another, but I recognized it at the same one as before.
"There's nothing strange about it—that's why it's so peculiar."
"? What does that…"
"He didn't leave any dying message, did he?"
Kyouko-san said.
"A dying message… is it?"
I hesitated to answer—as I recall, it was a mystery novel term. A message left at the time of death—something the victim leaves at the scene to signal out the one who harmed them… was that it?
"Yes, that's it. You're quite knowledgeable. We can't make any guarantees, but for now, Wakui-san's life has been prolonged, so to be more precise, it might be a near-dying message but—at the place Wakui-san fell, there was no message left behind. Don't you find that strange?"
"Strange, well… no, I wouldn't think so."
Knowing she was looking for a different answer, I still answered honestly.
"I mean, even if he wanted to leave a message, if he didn't have a pen or pencil, he had no way to leave it…"
"Certainly, he may not have had the stamina left to get a pen, pencil or brush… but he didn't have the need, did he? He had all the necessary told with him to leave a message, he didn't even have to get up."
"Necessary tools… because Wakui-san is a professional, he must carry writing materials around regularly, is that your train of thought?"
That may have been the case, but even if he was a professional Wakui was a framer, not a painter—whether he regularly carried around writing utensils, as someone who had met him before, I couldn't say for sure.
"I would also find it difficult to conclude so. If he was going out, it might be a different story, but I'd question even a painter carrying a brush around the house."
"As I thought… then…"
"But without making such high-level judgments, if he just wanted to write a message, it would be simple enough—with blood and a finger."
The blood was flowing ceaselessly from the wound, and his finger wasn't severed after all—Kyouko-san said something repulsing. No, while it was repulsing, for dying messages, that was certainly the standard—blood letters left on the scene. But while I thought old Wakui's blood was like a pool of paint spilled on the scene, I didn't even consider him actually using it as paint—I should curse my own lack of imagination.
But while discerning what was left in blood letters was something even an amateur could do, discerning something from the lack of blood letters was something even a detective couldn't.
"He had the change, he had the means, yet he didn't leave anything to signal out the culprit—what do you think of this, Oyagiri-san?"
"D-don't ask me…"
It was hard for me to think of it as any particular problem—just because they had the time and means, a dying message wasn't something just anyone could leave. Even if the wound wasn't one that would kill him on the spot, it still should have been considerably painful… I think that could have been the last thing on Wakui's mind.
"Yes, if you put it like that, there's all there is to it—but what if that wasn't the case. As a test, try thinking of another possibility."
"Another possibility…"
It was kinda turning into a thinking game.
It was also somewhat imprudent to give a quiz on the scene of an actual crime. Without putting on airs, she could just say it, I looked at Kyouko-san half-condemning, but she remained trained on the cinder—what's this?
Not only was the binder the same, it was open on the same page I saw before—though I couldn't see what was written from my angle (and I doubt I could understand even if I saw it), but was there anything there that would halt Kyouko-san's speed?
Is that why she could no longer multitask with my obscurity—in that case, it wasn't very praiseworthy to demand the effort of a detailed explanation from her here. What's more, after I decided to learn from her, I couldn't just remain pampered, I couldn't just abandon thought—so I thought.
When he had the time, he had the means, a reason he wouldn't leave the culprit's name or appearance on the spot—or perhaps a reason he couldn't.
"Because he didn't know who it was that stabbed him… perhaps?"
"Yes, in that case, he had no way of leaving a message—even if he wanted to, he wouldn't know who specifically to call out."
Kyouko-san said, but her eyes didn't leave the binder—she stared fixedly at the same page. No, she reread it over and over again—when she had such confidence in her short-term memory, that should have been an excessively illogical action, but likely knowing full well of that, Kyouko-san busily raced her eyes as she answered me.
"However, while that would hold up if he was stabbed or hit from behind, Wakui-san was stabbed in the stomach. I don't think there's any mistake in assuming he was stabbed from the front—it's hard to think he didn't see the culprit."
"Right… ah, but is there a possibility they were wearing a mask? He didn't know who it was."
To adopt the line of reasoning he ran into a burglar, it was possible enough—though I did feel something off about a burglar who prepared a mask beforehand, but not a weapon.
"No. If we suppose the culprit was a professional burglar, then it's strange that they left the painting knife at the scene, without confirming Wakui-san's death—of course, while it's strange, it's not impossible. And that's also something you can say, and that's all there is to it—but I can think of one more case that couldn't be written off so easily."
"Can't be—written off?"
"That Wakui-san clearly identified who the culprit was, yet despite that, didn't leave any message."
With a click, Kyouko-san shut the binder. Her spirits were low—rather than closing the page because she reached an answer, hers was a gloomy face that gave off the sense she had given up for the time being. And it was because she gave up, that she put a strenuous effort into checking answer with me—
"A case where he had the change, he had the means, the message he should leave was clear—meaning, the culprit was an acquaintance of Wakui-san, and Wakui-san is covering for them."
"C… covering? He is?"
"Yes. Which means—"
Kyouko-san moved as she explained. At first, I wondered where she was going, but it seems she was heading for the door in the back of the basement, the one that continued to old Wakui's living quarters—She had revived her free multitask mode.
His workplace was one thing, but was sticking a hand in his home going too far—no, the present situation was already considerably too far, but Kyouko-san showed no signs of shying back, "which means," she continued on.
"The culprit who stabbed Wakui-san was the sort of individual Wakui-san would stick up for. For example, a family, a close friend—or perhaps a painters' egg whose talents he recognized."
"! Don't tell me that's—"
That's the truth of 'the culprit is in our midst'? The culprit wasn't just an acquaintance… because it was a painter whose future he placed his hopes on, Wakui didn't want to identify him or her as the culprit—of course, it was a forced train of thought, and somewhat absurd.
To cover for the person who stabbed you was normally hard to imagine—but the conditions he was stabbed under were already plenty abnormal. With a large wound in his abdomen, in his chaotic thoughts, perhaps a human could all of a sudden make such a decision.
Then surely she had just raised an easy-to-understand example, and by no means had Kyouko deduced that solely on the presence of a dying message—while it was thinkable that Wakui was still conscious at first, he himself didn't report it to the police or fire brigade.
There was no doubt that could help form a basis he was covering for the culprit—normally, it could be concluded he couldn't move from the pain and was unable to, and even now, that possibility seemed to be far higher.
Thinking too hard, deducing too far.
But being well aware of that, Kyouko-san purposely discarded the notion, and focused her attention on a low possibility—the reason being.
"The reason being, that in itself is the message Wakui-san left. I want to cover for the culprit, I don't want the culprit to be identified, I don't want the culprit to be punished—that is the message that Wakui-san left us."
"Of course, he's wrong. Whatever the details, for someone who stabbed someone to be forgiven without retribution is, at the very least, not recognized under the constitution of our country—even so, I must place great weight on the message an aging old man put his life in danger to leave. So, at the very least,"
Before the mess of a police investigation comes in, we'll identify the culprit—and urge them to turn themselves in.
Okitegami Kyouko made a determined declaration.