"In truth, you could have just dug your heels in and denied everything," Tsuneo said, casting a sideways glance at Hiroto Akashi. "It wouldn't have changed much."
Technically, none of the individual points amounted to concrete, physical evidence. Even if a detective's deduction of the events was perfectly logical and flawless, a suspect could simply refuse to confess in the absence of a "smoking gun."
"No... it doesn't matter anymore."
Hiroto Akashi shook his head slowly. It was exactly as the young man said—regardless of how many flaws existed in his plan, regardless of whether that tooth fell out or where it landed, and regardless of whether guests had arrived today, he was always going to go through with it.
Standing by the door, the "Dog-Headed Detective"—Conan—lowered his voice-changing bowtie and looked toward the killer. The man seemed strangely at peace now. It was a haunting contrast to the cruelty of the murder itself—a desperate, suffocating way to die.
"Today is the anniversary of my late wife's death," Akashi reminisced, his voice distant. "Because of that, even if the guests at my door happened to be famous Great Detectives, I couldn't abandon my plan."
"Three years ago today, my wife collapsed in this forest during a rainstorm..." Akashi's eyes clouded with memory. He explained that he had been away in Tokyo for work. His elderly father, craving mushroom fried rice, had badgered his bedridden daughter-in-law until she got up to cook.
"It's nearly three kilometers through these woods to the supermarket. She fell on the way home after buying the groceries. After that... she never stood up again."
"But... even so, that's hardly a reason to resort to murder," Inspector Yamamura muttered, scratching his head in confusion.
Akashi looked at the bumbling officer and shook his head slightly. "What truly sparked the intent to kill was the day after my wife's funeral. I was standing by the door when I heard him muttering to himself in front of the family altar."
The killer's voice dropped, mimicking the cold, rasping tone of his father: "Old girl, I finally broke her. Next time, I want to find someone who lasts a bit longer. A durable toy... just like Hiroto."
"That is what he said."
"How could someone..." Ran and Sonoko felt a cold sweat break across their skin as they listened.
"I—I remember you saying you were his adopted son?" Yamamura stammered, momentarily speechless at the sheer malice of the old man's words.
"Yes. Until that moment, I had naively assumed that my father's unreasonable demands were simply because I wasn't his biological blood," Akashi said, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. "Even building this house deep in the mountains was his idea. He said he wanted a life far removed from the world."
Far from the world. Hidden from prying eyes. A place where he could treat people however he pleased.
"Why did you endure it for another three years?" Tsuneo asked, turning to look at him.
"I suppose the resentment just needed that long to overflow," Akashi replied with a faint, weary smile as the handcuffs clicked shut around his wrists.
As the case drew to a close, Inspector Yamamura tucked away his digital camcorder. At the same time, Kogoro Mouri's head lolled back before he finally jerked awake, blinking in a daze.
"That was truly incredible, Mr. Mouri!" Yamamura rushed forward, grabbing the "Sleeping Kogoro's" hand and shaking it with fanatical excitement.
"Er... ha... hahaha..."
True to form, Kogoro had no idea what was happening and could only offer a confused, sheepish laugh. Solving mysteries was apparently just that simple—or so it seemed.
"I remember you asking Mr. Akashi a question earlier," Conan remarked. His cold seemed to have vanished, his energy fully restored as he looked up at the mechanic.
"What question?" Tsuneo asked casually.
The group was gathered outside the house, waiting for the police to finish processing the scene. They were waiting for Yamamura to arrange a car to escort them away from the mountain.
"You reminded him that his father was crying in the room upstairs," Conan noted, his eyes sharp. "And you said, 'As long as you understand.' Now that the case is solved, that strikes me as very odd."
The mechanic's senses were far beyond those of an ordinary person; it was entirely possible he had heard an unusual whimpering or sobbing coming from the room.
"I suspected something might happen, but as for what specifically... I didn't know," Tsuneo said, shaking his head. Who could honestly remember the exact details of how every old man in these cases died?
He had only asked the question to confirm the man's resolve. If the man felt he absolutely had to kill, Tsuneo wasn't going to stand in the way of fate.
"In his situation, this counts as a voluntary confession, right?" Tsuneo asked, looking down at Conan.
"There might be some debate regarding the legal procedure, but if his lawyer fights for it, it should be fine," Conan replied, nodding as he watched Hiroto Akashi being led into the police cruiser.
"What a fool..."
Tsuneo sighed. The man had likely hesitated for three years because he felt a debt of gratitude for being adopted. Even at the very end, that lingering sentiment was probably why he had confessed so calmly once caught.
"It's only natural, I think," Conan said, looking down at the clothes he was wearing. This outfit had belonged to Akashi when he was a child; he must have been adopted at a very young age.
"Perhaps his memory of the man was simply skewed," Tsuneo said with a small smile as he saw Kogoro and the others approaching.
"Skewed?"
"What do you mean by skewed?" Ran and Sonoko asked, wondering if there was another twist to the case.
Inspector Yamamura drove the car around, and everyone piled in. Once they were settled, Tsuneo spoke up. "Think about it. Why would that old man whisper something like that to his deceased wife in front of the altar? Why would he say it just loud enough for someone at the door to hear?"
"What are you getting at..." Kogoro rubbed his chin, his expression sour. This case had left a bitter taste in his mouth; he wasn't in the mood for riddles.
After a moment, Yamamura reached a fork in the road and steered back toward Gunma. "Mr. Mouri, you mentioned earlier that you were headed to a villa in Karuizawa, right?"
"Yeah, but like I told you, because of the mudslides, we probably won't be able to get through for a while," Kogoro grumbled, shaking his head.
"I'm suddenly starving," Tsuneo muttered, staring out the window at the dark trees passing by.
"I wasn't talking about the mudslides," Yamamura said, glancing at Kogoro in the passenger seat. "I was just curious—why on earth would a taxi driver drop you off in the middle of nowhere like this?"
"..."
"MY CAR!!!" Kogoro suddenly screamed, his heart wrenching in his chest.
"Your car?"
"You guys drove here?"
"Did you run out of gas?"
"Do you want me to call a tow truck?"
If Kogoro Mouri had to choose one person to murder in that moment, the "Champion of Justice," Yamamura, would have been the first to go.
The group followed Yamamura back to the Gunma Prefectural Police Station. Despite it being well past midnight, no one felt particularly sleepy. Instead, they resigned themselves to the inevitable paperwork.
"Honestly, no matter where we go, we end up filing a statement..." Tsuneo said, his voice laced with exasperation.
"Alright, alright, I've got it all on video, so I'll try to keep the paperwork brief," Yamamura said, handing the camcorder to a colleague to play back. He began taking notes while conducting a more detailed inquiry with the group.
Kogoro sat there, finally watching the footage. He stared at the screen, seeing himself with his head bowed, explaining the deduction with an air of profound, unshakable gravity.
Conan, feeling a prick of a guilty conscience, quietly slunk off to the side.
"I see! So that's how it happened!" The muddled detective watched his "Sleeping" self finish the deduction, a look of sudden enlightenment washing over his face.
It was only now that he actually understood the specifics of the case he had just solved.
"Professor Mouri," Tsuneo said, rolling up a notebook into a makeshift microphone and shoving it toward the man's mustache. "How do you feel about your own 'somnambulist' state of mind?"
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