When the Detective Work is Done, I'll Die

Chapter 13

Furudou immediately broke free from his rigid state and voiced an objection.

"W-What are you saying? That money was just to throw us off the real evidence... right?"

I certainly had said that. But that was only me repeating the line of reasoning the culprit—him—had tried to steer us toward.

The real truth lay elsewhere.

"That's wrong. What you were trying to hide is connected to this... isn't it?"

"Ah...!"

I brought forward the bag that had probably held the ten-thousand-yen bills and showed it to him.

"This was left inconspicuously at the crime scene, and because money had been in it, everyone assumed from the start that all the money had been inside this bag. But that's not right, is it? In truth, something else was inside!"

"Eeek... Wh-Why would you think that..."

"Why I thought that, you mean. Well, the key to solving the mystery comes from a little situation. An acquaintance told me about the staples."

"Staples? Ugh... Aah!"

Because Furudou suddenly cried out, everyone's gaze snapped to him. He tried to play dumb—"Ah... n-no..."—but

before me, having reasoned out every truth, it was meaningless.

"You don't use staples on money, so you'd need something else. A paper band to bundle the bills."

"Aah... aah..."

"Or what? You're going to claim you never used anything like that? Doing so would only have angered the already irritable Mr. Koyama even more and risked him calling off the deal entirely. It's unthinkable that there was no paper band."

Just then the detective tried to derail my reasoning.

"Hey! But hiding the band would be pointless! Where the hell did that band go!?"

I cut down his objection with a single stroke of logic.

"Exactly. The band itself doesn't need to be hidden. It's not the murder weapon; even if it had fingerprints or blood on it, that wouldn't be a problem. What matters is why the band had to vanish—what situation would make it disappear!"

"Aah...? Make it disappear!?"

"Right. Furudou accidentally created a situation where the band would vanish. So think in reverse: if the band existed, after unwrapping the money and scattering it, where would you put the band?"

Miiko answered exactly as I hoped.

"So he slipped the band into the real bag, then. After scattering only the money, he accidentally left the band inside the real bag and took it away."

That's why the crime scene held only money and none of the item meant to bundle it—a bizarre state of affairs.

From this fact, the truth emerges; once I speak it, the case is solved.

"Exactly. You scattered the cash to make a plain leather bag look like the real one. And why did you have to take the bag you truly wanted to hide? Because Furudou realized that the very existence of that bag would prove the premeditated intent to kill!"

The detective shouted again.

"Proof of intent to kill—what the hell does that mean!?"

I'll yield no longer to a man who can only pressure others by yelling and threats.

"Simple. The evidence of intent is right there in the bump on Mr. Koyama's head. See, he had a cut on his forehead—that's probably where the impact happened."

"A 'bump'—are you kidding me!? People don't usually die from a bump! What, do you die if I bump your head on the wall? Then let me test that theory on you...!"

I won't yield to the detective's threats or violence.

"In Mr. Koyama's case, it would kill him!"

"Huh...!?"

At that moment, Mr. Hida—who knew Mr. Koyama—spoke up forcefully.

"That's right! That man had once collapsed from a subarachnoid hemorrhage! Whatever the reason, a strong blow to the head...! An amateur couldn't be sure it would definitely kill him, but it's definitely dangerous. If you struck him with something hard, that proves intent to kill..."

"It's possible Furudou didn't know that!"

The detective glared at Mr. Hida, but she didn't flinch. She seemed to sense from my attitude that a mere detective was nothing to fear.

"No, he confirmed the 'brain illness' with the boy earlier. From the very first conversation he had with the boy, he knew about the brain condition..."

The detective staggered back and tripped over something, tumbling to the floor. That something was Mr. Furudou.

Apparently his glasses had fallen and he'd been searching for them. The detective must have stepped on them in the collision. The lenses are cracked.

Sorry to hit you while you're down, but let me finish you off with a final mental blow of reasoning.

"I'd wager that bag is hard. If it's also stuffed with money, an aluminum travel case comes to mind. You struck Mr. Koyama with one of its corners! With every ounce of murderous intent! The first blow didn't kill him, but the staggering Mr. Koyama then hit his head on the bookshelf and died!"

"Th-That's why... that's why... I did it..."

With him now completely at a loss, flustered, I delivered the final words to Mr. Furudou.

"Still need more evidence!? Then I'll tell you. Somewhere along the road—or left at home—that hard bag, or the paper band, should still bear your fingerprints. And on top of that, Mr. Koyama's blood from the forehead wound. Even if you wiped it, it's too late. The police will absolutely find the connection between you and that bag—where you bought it, how you got it, everything! Now, Furudou! Admit to the crime of murder!"

For the second time he collapsed to the floor like a marionette with its strings cut. Again his glasses fell; he beat the floor again and again with his right hand near the broken lenses. Blood from his hand splattered across the room as, face flushed, he spat out words of hatred.

"Aah... that evidence will be found, won't it... I panicked and tossed it in the nearby river... Yeah... I kept thinking of killing him... of killing Koyama. That ugly bastard! To avenge my daughter—yeah!"

His daughter... the one who'd sent him the handkerchief, then. "Avenge" meant she must be dead.

Concerned, I asked him what atrocity Mr. Koyama had committed.

"What did Mr. Koyama do to your daughter... did he actually kill her?"

"Aah...! He didn't lay a hand on her directly, but it's the same as murder! That serial-harasser was greedy beyond greedy—the lowest devil imaginable!"