When the Detective Work is Done, I'll Die

Chapter 5

"Eh, really?"

Miiko came over to this side and, "Ah, it really is!" she exclaimed, her breathing heavy as she looked Mr. Furudou up and down as if licking him with her eyes.

Mr. Furudou, embarrassed by the high-school girl's gaze, swiftly drew his right hand from his pocket and showed us the bandage wrapped around his palm, saying "Will this do?" There was no mistaking that the red liquid seeping through the white bandage was blood. It looked as though he had a thin vertical cut; the blood had run in a line from top to bottom. It might be rude to call it neat.

Because we were so concerned about such an injury, Mr. Furudou began to explain how he got hurt.

"Well, you see. I went home once, but while I was trying to hang the art I'd bought, I accidentally broke something else—"

Imagining him shattering an antique, I felt something terrible must have happened. He spoke calmly, but surely he had done something outrageous...? Suddenly I wanted to confirm it.

"When you say 'broke it,' it wasn't anything valuable, was it...?"

"No, luckily the loss was only a few tens of thousands. I'm glad I had property insurance."

"I—I see. Sorry for asking. Please go on."

With this man, our sense of value clearly doesn't match. Losing ten or twenty thousand yen wouldn't make him bat an eye.

And here we are, worried sick about money.

"So the broken shard cut my hand. It has nothing to do with this case, really."

To that, Miiko replied with a "Really?" expressing her doubt.

"But you must have been pretty flustered if you had to wipe the blood with your daughter's handkerchief, right?"

"W-well, this handkerchief is what my daughter told me to use when I get hurt. I injure myself easily—cuts on my feet and so on, they never stop."

"I see. Cuts, huh."

Right. Speaking of cuts, there was evidence relevant to the case. I had to confront him with the fact and get him to provide information.

"Hey, Miiko. Do you have photos of the body on your smartphone?"

"I took some, yeah."

"Then please show the face area."

Apparently assuming we were about to shove a gruesome corpse photo at him, Mr. Furudou shrank back from us.

"W-wait...! I'm really bad with blood...!"

Miiko explained in detail what she wanted him to see so he wouldn't run.

"It's fine. It's just a photo of a cut. The corpse isn't drenched in blood or anything."

"Ah... is that so?"

He quietly looked at what appeared on the smartphone.

It was the cut on Mr. Koyama's forehead. While Miiko held up the photo, I posed my question.

"Do you think this injury happened during a struggle with the culprit? Or was it an old wound? You were probably the last person to see him, so whether you noticed it or not makes a big difference."

After finishing that long sentence I felt a bit flustered. I'd gone and spoken like a detective again—how presumptuous.

I worried what would happen if Mr. Furudou said something strange in answer to that question. If he made a statement that branded him as the culprit, we could arrest him. But would that really make us happy?

He has a daughter, and probably a wife too. We might ruin his life. Was that truly the right thing?

But contrary to my fears, nothing suspicious came from his words.

"It was already there. A scar, I guess. When I saw him there wasn't any fresh blood, so maybe it bled during the fight with the culprit... right?"

It was a reassuring testimony. Feeling lighter, I asked another question.

"Did you ask him why he had it?"

"Ah, yeah. He said he'd opened the cupboard there and accidentally hit the edge. Come to think of it, it did look painful... hitting the corner can slice the skin."

"Ah... that must hurt, right? I... do that sometimes too."

Miiko opened her mouth and shuddered. I understood. The pain of banging your head on an open cupboard or slamming your little toe on a dresser corner is unbearable. Just imagining it brings back that agony. To keep from thinking about the pain any more, I ended the topic there.

Still, there's more we have to ask.

We need to know if anyone held a grudge against the victim, and about motive. Believing he isn't the culprit, I asked about those two things.

"Um, do you know anyone who might have hated Mr. Koyama?"

He answered without hesitation.

"Well, you probably heard from Mr. Hida too, right? About that. He had plenty of reason to be hated."

"So even you, who dealt in antiques and art with him...?"

"Exactly. He'd jack up prices, and if he didn't like something he'd yell, 'I can ruin your business anytime.' I couldn't go against him because he introduced me to this job..."

"So... that means you too had a motive to kill him?"

I swallowed hard. Watching him nod slowly while clutching his chest—

"That's true. But if I killed everyone who annoyed me, I'd be a murderer. In this business you meet plenty of unpleasant people. Even if you do nothing wrong. Look, it's everyday stuff to work with guys who automatically suspect everyone, like that detective. In those cases you just have to endure."

"Endure."

"Besides, he couldn't get that angry anymore. After all, he'd just recovered from an illness. If he yelled his blood vessel might pop. Holding back really paid off. Today Mr. Koyama didn't yell at me."

"I see. That's good to hear."

Miiko typed his story into her smartphone. Mr. Hida, with time to spare before the police arrived, was dusting the living-room curtains.

Just then, the door opened again and several sturdy men entered the house.

The detective spoke.

"......Well then, since the police are here—"

Perhaps we were at fault for having forgotten the detective entirely. Glaring at Miiko and me, he began addressing the officers.

"Let's begin the deduction now, shall we? You high-schoolers over there...?"

Miiko seemed to grasp instantly what the detective was about to say. She pressed a hand to her face in a gesture of regret.

Unable to understand, I asked the detective.

"Why are you turning to us? We haven't solved the mystery yet."

"No, no, I don't intend to have you solve anything. I've already unraveled every mystery on my own."

"Eh...?!"

Mr. Furudou had told us patience was important. But there's a limit. The next words stung my heart cruelly.

"The culprit is that young lady there, isn't it. We have all the evidence! Give it up!"

"Huh?!"

She could only flinch under the gaze of the police.

I know better than anyone. She never committed murder. I've been following her with my own eyes the whole time. She never had the chance, yet this man spouts nonsense.

It's probably revenge for being rejected.

Unforgivable. Using the police's trust for his own desires. Twisting the truth.

God, may I? Even if I have to kill the detective before my eyes...!