Yamamura—or "Ah-Shan," as some might call him—looked utterly dejected. The prospect of a simple suicide meant no investigation, and more importantly, no chance to film the legendary Sleeping Detective in action.
"If it's a suicide, at least you save time on the investigation," Uncle Mouri whispered, pulling the officer to one side. "And for heaven's sake, stop moping about it in front of the victim's son, even if he is just an adopted one..."
"Well, technically you're right, but still..." Yamamura rubbed his chin, looking unconvinced. It wasn't every day he got to cross paths with the great Kogoro Mouri.
"Mouri-ojisan, look! Isn't the pull-cord for the light in this room a bit too short?" Conan was standing by the futon, reaching up toward the string. His small hand grasped at the air, unable to reach it.
It wasn't like this in the living room; there, he could reach the cord easily. Why was the string in the victim's bedroom so short?
Uncle Mouri looked down at the deceased, then back at Conan. The old man had been hunched and small in stature—only about twenty or thirty centimeters taller than Conan. To reach that cord to turn the lights on or off would have been quite the struggle.
"Oh? So there is a problem?" Yamamura's expression instantly brightened.
The group turned as one to look at Akashi Hiroto, waiting for an explanation regarding the light cord. Everything else in the house had been modified for convenience, yet the cord in the victim's own room was abnormally short.
"That's because my father often got up in the middle of the night," Akashi explained with a weary shake of his head. "He felt the long cord was in the way. Once, the pendant at the end actually hit him in the eye, so he decided to cut it short."
From the sound of it, the old man had been quite the eccentric and temperamental character.
"I see. Then it seems there's no issue with the suicide theory after all," Mouri muttered. He had only found it mildly curious; if there was a logical explanation, it didn't matter. It was just a string, after all.
While the police continued their forensic work upstairs, Tsuneo and the others returned to the downstairs living room to rest.
"By the way, could I have the recipe for that curry?" Tsuneo asked, glancing at Akashi.
Curry was a convenient dish, easy to make, but notoriously difficult to master. Given that the police might be hauling someone away in a squad car shortly, Tsuneo figured he'd better secure the recipe while the chef was still available.
"The recipe? I suppose so..." Akashi blinked, surprised by the request. He nodded and went to find a pen and paper.
"Honestly, you're just like that police officer—no sense of gravity at all," Mouri grumbled, resting his chin in his hand. Even if Akashi didn't seem particularly grief-stricken, it felt wrong to treat a crime scene like a cooking class.
"Don't you dare compare me to that guy," Tsuneo shot back. He had standards, after all.
Conan, meanwhile, sat with a deep frown, watching Akashi return to the room to write down the recipe. Looking back, there were more than just one or two oddities.
Tsuneo had gone upstairs around 8:30 PM, but Ran didn't go up until 10:00 PM. During that long interval, Akashi hadn't mentioned his father once. Furthermore, asking a guest to go upstairs to collect dishes was inherently strange behavior.
Then there was the length of that light cord...
And the teeth. Someone who had just been to the dentist a few days ago for a tooth extraction wouldn't be able to eat spicy curry comfortably. Akashi, having trained athletes, should have known better than anyone about dietary restrictions.
Speaking of the curry... Why make such a massive pot for just two people? How long were they planning to eat that?
"Conan-kun, what's wrong?" Ran noticed the boy's uncharacteristically serious expression.
"I bet he's just worrying about a school test or something," Sonoko guessed. "Though, talk about bad luck today... I've lived this long and it's the first time I've gone fishing only to have the car washed away by the river."
As they spoke, Yamamura slid open the living room door. "I have something I'd like to ask. It's about the victim's wrist—there are marks, as if something was tightly wrapped or bound around it."
Uncle Mouri extinguished his cigarette and looked at Akashi.
Akashi handed the paper with the curry recipe to Tsuneo before turning to explain. "If it's on his wrist, those should be marks from rubber bands. My father had a habit of keeping rubber bands wrapped around his wrist."
"Ah, that explains it." Yamamura nodded. The police had indeed found several rubber bands under the victim's pillow. That seemed to clear up the last lingering doubt.
"Tsuneo-niichan, are you sure you heard the old man crying in the room earlier?" Conan asked, looking at the older youth. He knew Tsuneo's hearing was far sharper than his own.
"Didn't you hear it too?" Tsuneo replied noncommittally, reaching for the remote and switching on the television.
It was late at night, the prime time for variety shows. Even Uncle Mouri's attention was drawn to the screen.
"Oh!" Yamamura exclaimed, looking at the TV. "I know that idol group! They only debuted recently!"
"..."
Conan stared at the three of them in disbelief. He stepped forward and tugged on Yamamura's pant leg. "Officer Yamamura, did you find anything else at the scene?"
Yamamura snapped out of his fanboy daze and looked down at the primary schooler. "Other findings? Well, you saw it—half a plate of curry, the rubber bands... oh, and a handkerchief. He probably used it to wipe his mouth."
Nothing that seemed particularly noteworthy.
"A handkerchief?"
Conan paused, his mind racing. Without a word, he turned and bolted back toward the upstairs bedroom.
"Strange kid. What is it now?" Mouri watched the boy vanish, then turned his attention back to the TV.
"Mr. Akashi, thank you for your hospitality," Tsuneo said suddenly, his voice calm as he held the remote.
"Oh... it was nothing," Akashi replied, glancing at him.
Something about this man—this man who ate so much—felt strange. It felt as though Tsuneo had been observing him with a detached, knowing gaze the entire time. To suddenly offer thanks now felt... ominous.
"And your curry," Tsuneo continued, "I'll be sure to share it with my friends."
"..."
"What are you talking about?" Mouri started to scratch his head, confused.
In the next heartbeat, a silver needle flew from an unseen corner, silently embedding itself into the back of the detective's neck.
Yes! Here it is!
Yamamura immediately whipped out his portable camcorder and hit record. That slump, that head tilt—there was no doubt about it! The "Sleeping Kogoro" had arrived!
"Uncle, are you okay?"
Conan peeked into the living room from outside, sneaked a small speaker onto the back of Mouri's collar, and slipped back into the shadows of the hallway.
"Mr. Mouri! This case... is it really...?" Yamamura asked breathlessly, holding the camera steady.
"Correct. This is a cold-blooded case of homicide."
Conan, having found the perfect vantage point outside the door, began his deduction.
Sonoko looked at the sleeping Mouri, then at the silent Akashi Hiroto. If this was a murder, one didn't need to be a genius to know who the culprit was. In this isolated house, there was no one else with a motive—or the opportunity.
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