The Detective is Already Dead

Chapter 119: Chapter 1.4

April 28 Siesta

"Nice. This came out even better than I expected."

Having put on a certain item that had been delivered that morning, I examined myself in the bathroom mirror and sighed with amazement.

My face had been my constant companion for over a decade. Who would have thought it could look so different without plastic surgery?

Right now, I was the very image of a Japanese woman in her late twenties. Once I changed out of my usual dress, it was likely that even people who knew me wouldn't recognize me.

"That's the Inventor for you. He does good work."

I stroked my face—well, the mask that clung to my skin—with my fingertips.

The mask fit the contours of my face so well it didn't even feel like I was wearing anything. It was as if I'd applied the sort of special effects makeup they use in movies.

Currently, I was a detective on a mission to find a spy who'd fled to this country. That meant it was necessary to act covertly, so I'd had an acquaintance prepare a mask for me.

The Inventor had made several handy items for me before. At this rate, I might be able to get a full set of seven tools, like a real detective.

"What else would be good? A gun, maybe?"

An ordinary firearm would be pointless. I'd also prefer something that looked cooler than what I was using now. If I left its performance to the Inventor, I was sure I wouldn't end up with something weird.

"Could I use boots with hidden shoe lifts to change my height?"

This mask couldn't change my figure, but I could probably manage something with accessories. With a voice changer, I could make my voice do anything I wanted. Now I could finally get down to business. Stepping away from the sink in high spirits, I went back into the shop.

"I may have gone overboard in assembling my collection."

The small, old shop was packed with antiques and pieces of fine art I'd picked up over the past few days. I'd learned that the spy I was after, Danny Bryant, tended to collect those kinds of things. Maybe it was a hobby.

Naturally, this was just to help my mood. I wasn't seriously hoping that he might stop by one day if I pretended to run an antique store. However, I did think that putting myself in the target's shoes might let me see things I hadn't been able to see before. So I'd rented a shop in the city where Danny had once lived, and I planned to treat it as my base of operations while I was living in Japan.

"Now then, what should I do next?"

All I'd done over the past few days was make basic preparations. My investigation was about to begin in earnest. Should I start with Kimihiko Kimizuka, the boy I'd heard about?

Danny Bryant had been looking after "Boy K.," and coincidentally, the kid still lived in town. I called Fuubi again, hoping for more information on him.

"Hello? About that boy you mentioned earlier, the one who always gets dragged into things..."

"I'm busy. Hanging up," a cranky voice said three seconds into the call. Then she hung up.

And then she called me right back.

"Never talk about that guy where I can hear you."

"If you're going that far, now I'm really curious." I wanted to see him today, right away.

"Ha! If you want to meet that damn brat, you don't even have to try. Just walk around town and you'll run into him."

Fuubi was probably referring to what she'd said earlier: Boy K. had a knack for getting dragged into trouble. If there was an incident, he was sure to turn up.

That said, could I count on an incident happening so conveniently? Fuubi seemed to know what I was thinking. "Stuff happens so often there's no time to sleep." She sighed, then listed several cases she was currently working on. "So, like I said, I'm busy. Go see the rest for yourself." She hung up wearily.

What did you have to do to get a police officer to hate you this much? I smiled with some chagrin. I'd never met Boy K., but he was sounding more and more intriguing.

That said, if I couldn't rely on a real policewoman any longer— "I'll just have to count on a fake one."

An hour later...

"Mm-hmm. That went well."

I'd gotten Boy K.'s current address from city hall in record time, and I was in a good mood as I walked through town.

As I passed by an elderly woman, she said, "Thank you for your service."

It was the clothes. Right now, no matter who saw me, I looked like a police officer. I'd used that mask to change my face, while the odds and ends I was always collecting for undercover investigations had come in handy for my uniform.

My strategy had been simple: I'd visited city hall disguised as a police officer and told them I needed Boy K.'s personal information for an investigation. A certain notebook had also come in handy. It had been issued by the Federation Government, and it gave me all sorts of credentials to get into places the average person wasn't allowed to go, and public institutions provided me with information more easily. If I wanted to conduct detective work using the shortest possible route, this was an essential item.

"What's that you say? Why cosplay as a police officer, then? Oh, this is fan service," I said, in response to a question no one had actually asked, and then I reached the apartment building.

I climbed the rusty stairs and rang the doorbell of Boy K.'s apartment...but there was no answer.

"And of course it's locked."

I twisted the knob, just to check, but the door didn't open. The electrical meter was turning, but only very slowly; apparently, he wasn't just pretending to not be home. That said, there wasn't a buildup of flyers in the mailbox, which meant the apartment's resident came home regularly.

"I see. School, huh?"

It was a weekday. I didn't go to school, so I'd forgotten about it. In that case, would it be faster to visit the schools in this district? ...But I'd come all the way here; it felt like a waste. All of a detective's actions should have meaning.

When you're reading a mystery novel and an important-looking character or item shows up but is never explained, it's a letdown. In the same way, I wanted to be responsible and make sure everything I did meant something. Because, yes

—I am a detective.

"And so, excuse the intrusion."

Using a certain special key, I boldly let myself into Boy K.'s apartment.

It was a master key the Inventor had given me, just after I'd been appointed Ace Detective. With the exception of electronic locks, there's no door it can't open. From what I'd been told, it was the custom for this key to be handed down from Ace Detective to Ace Detective.

"Everything from this point on is typical detective work."

The Ace Detective and the Assassin stood on the front line with support from other Tuners. That was how our roles were divided. ...Although what I was about to do was nothing that grand.

And so, while the tenant was away, I went in to look for any traces Danny Bryant might have left behind.

In the kitchen, I found an unwashed cup, plus the last two slices of a loaf of bread sitting on top of the microwave. The living room was littered with clothes. The place felt lived-in; I could tell someone was here most of the time, and they'd just stepped out temporarily.

One other thing about the apartment caught my attention: The rather small living room held a whole lot of antiques and souvenirs from around the country. The carved wooden bear on the shelf, for example. That probably wasn't Boy K.'s taste. Danny Bryant couldn't still be living here, could he? If he was, I couldn't imagine Fuubi not noticing it, but...

At the very least, these things were probably supporting evidence that he'd

been here once. On that thought, I inspected the room carefully. Assuming Boy

wasn't a juvenile delinquent, one empty beer can or cigarette butt might prove that Danny Bryant was still here... But nothing turned up even after going through the trash bins.

Parenthetically, I did find magazines with lots of pictures of swimsuit-clad women in the closet, but I had a hunch that those probably were Boy K.'s, so I lined them up on the bookshelf for him.

"I guess that's all I'm going to find here." There was no material evidence.

In that case, I should get some witness testimonies next. I left the apartment and set off to find Boy K.

"If this is his address, then first..."

I didn't know whether Boy K. went to a public school or a private one, so I decided to try them all, starting with the closest one. This uniform and my notebook would let me gather information more efficiently.

The incident happened while I was on my way to the closest middle school, with those thoughts still running through my head.

"Whoa!"

A figure dashed out of a mixed-use building and almost ran straight into me.

It was a young man in a tacky, expensive suit. His head was shaved, and his wide-open collar exposed tattooed skin. Usually, when a guy like that sees a police officer, he would quietly look away. —But.

"Are you a cop?! Somebody's dead in there!"

Unexpectedly, the man clung to me. Wide-eyed, he pointed at a room in the mixed-use building, his hand shaking. Its curtains were open. Apparently, the incident took place on the third floor.

Without waiting for the man to show me the way, I dashed into the building. I ran upstairs, taking the steps two at a time, and opened the door to a place that looked like a consumer loan office.

" !"

In the back of the room, a big man who had to be one hundred and ninety centimeters tall was lying on the ground, bleeding from his chest.

Beside him stood a boy with a slight build. He was holding a knife, and his expression seemed rather lonely and melancholy. ...Or maybe resigned. As if he'd given up entirely.

"Kid. What's your name?"

Even I don't know why that was the first question I asked him.

He looked as if he'd been left behind, all alone in the world. His profile was so sad, and yet somehow, I couldn't take my eyes off him. I may have just wanted to know his name more than anything else.

"I'm—"

In the next moment, I remembered what that redheaded policewoman had said.

If you want to meet him, just walk around town.

"Kimihiko Kimizuka." That was how I met Boy K.