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ariannyeah: I really loved this line from whiteknighthakuba’s DCMK fanfic Spark! Two chapters are out so far, and I hopped on it late (like, yesterday) but i’m already in the zone of it and can’t wait to find out the truth. They have it on tumblr here and fanfiction here! *SCREECHES* AHHH <3 <3 <3 […]
Summary: Hakuba is murdered after Conan refuses to help him with a case. While the circumstances surrounding his death seem straightforward enough, things become complicated after Conan begins to receive letters from Hakuba 45 days later. Using the clues and journals left for him, Conan must forge unexpected alliances to discover the truth behind their shared ‘Boscombe’ secrets.
Chapter one can be read on tumblr, fnet, or ao3. Many thanks to my beta readers! <3
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Chapter 2
It’s strange, the concept of truth.
Proving the physical, the act of what happened, is a simple matter: if a person has ended the life of another person, they have killed. There is no question about that. Remove the bias of human emotion and motive and you are left with nothing but the concrete facts that can be used in court, all of which fits very neatly into the standardized reports that we’re required to fill out at headquarters.
Distancing ourselves from the human element allows us to accurately determine these things, yes, but leaves no allowance for justified circumstances; no exceptions for the Boscombe secrets that we come across in our work. It’s the letter of the law versus the spirit of the law. Yet the process of this, which allows us to decipher such events, jeopardizes the very point and purpose of law, and our meaning and worth as detectives.
It’s not enough to have the concrete. This is what sets the true professionals apart from the amateurs. Those who can separate the id and the super ego, filtering through the relative truths according to each perspective, and resolve it all into one: the fullest truth.
We detectives are, in the end, the seekers of that whole and complete truth.
Conan read the hand-written words in the leather-bound journal, glossing over its proposed meaning, then turned the page. It was just past 7 am, no more than fourteen hours since Hakuba had left the Mouri Detective Agency. Each attempt to call the foreign detective had taken Hattori to voicemail. He didn’t answer for Conan, either; not from his phone, nor the one listed for Kudou Shinichi. Megure had his team call the Hakuba house phone and the personal line of the Superintendent General.
In the end, it only took about an hour to confirm what he had feared: Hakuba was already dead. He’d been strangled in his own bedroom while the staff and his governess slept in the rooms nearby. Once the word got out that the Superintendent General’s son had been murdered, the best in their fields had been called in.
This, fortunately for Conan, included Mouri Kogoro.
The first entry in the journal was dated fifteen days ago, the second entry fourteen, and so on. He turned the page again, noting the dates, and continued to flip through the book. Black ink; neat and orderly. Each word written in careful English. There were fourteen in total; an entry for every day, except for yesterday. Some several pages long, some only a single sentence.
He flipped to the last entry in the book.
I’m being watched. Contingencies remain. Take care.
“Oi, little boy, what are you doing here?”
Conan glanced up from the book to find a white gloved hand, palm up and expectant. His gaze traveled up the arm and to the face of the officer who’d questioned him. “Eh? I’m Mouri-san’s apprentice!”
The young officer kept his hand extended, waiting, apparently unimpressed by the explanation. “Is that evidence?”
“Yeah.” There was something distinctly off about him that Conan didn’t quite trust. He turned the book over in his hands, then flipped it open to a random page. “It’s Hakuba-niisan’s journal, I think… but it’s written in English, so I can’t read it.”
“You shouldn’t be touching it, apprentice or not.”
Conan let his eyes stray to the writing on the page— I wonder, sometimes, how the criminals stand us detectives, doling out judgments and facts without understanding circumstances –then back to the man, tilting his head. “I don’t recognize you.”
The fraction of a second longer that it took the officer to respond than he should have told the young detective everything he needed to know. “…I’m new.”
No. He wasn’t new. Conan had seen him many times before, though it usually wasn’t at murder scenes. “Oh! Did you just get here?”
“Yeah.”
Conan could see it all, then. The disguise was rushed, the man pale, trembling in his uniform that was just a little too big for his frame. No time for additional padding? He smirked, fingers curling around the journal in his hands. Of course he would come. Hakuba was one of the detectives on the forefront of the task force; he probably had a ton of information about Kaitou KID. Why else would he risk coming to his house with cops swarming all over the place?
Bastard.
“I can fill you in if you want!” Despite the burning temptation to expose the thief right then and there, he forced himself to stay calm, instead giving that sickeningly sweet smile, chipper. Too chipper for being in the bedroom of the detective who’d just been murdered.
It shook KID, who blinked at him several times before nodding, distracted. “Uh. Sure.” His voice was strained. Tense. He was nervous.
Good.
“Hakuba-niisan was attacked last night… strangled to death by his necktie, right there in that armchair.” Conan watched his expression carefully, noting the thin line his lips had become. “They came in through that window. It was kind of weird, though…”
“Weird?”
“Yeah. The officers said there was no sign of forced entry and that the window musta’ been unlocked. And there’s no security footage, ‘cause even though there’s a camera right out there,” he pointed through the open window to the dormant camera wedged under the overhang, “it’s been off for weeks. So no one knows who came in.”
A few more seconds and the officer nodded, looking from the chair to the camera, then back to Conan. “Ah,” he said, voice distant.
“A couple of the officers think that it might have been Kaitou KID.”
There was a twitch at the faux-officer’s eye and he hesitated again, gaze growing colder. Obviously, he’d hit a nerve.
“And why is that?”
“Well…” Conan rocked back and forth on his heels, tucking the journal under his arm, and brought his other hand to his chin. “Think about it. Hakuba-niisan’s one of the few people who’s ever come close to catching KID, so it makes sense that he’d get rid of him, right?”
When the officer only tugged at the brim of his hat, Conan continued.
“But who knows. It’d be kind of ironic, though, ‘cause we think he fell asleep in front of the fireplace reading A Christmas Carol when he was attacked. The book was still open on his lap when we got here, right at the part about the ghost of Christmas Future. Ghosts, phantoms, phantom thief…” Conan gestured to the little end table where the book had been placed, then turned back to KID, who stared on in silence. “You shoulda seen the body.”
“Where is it?” he whispered.
“They took it away hours ago. It only takes, like, 10-15 seconds to fall unconscious when being strangled if you put the right pressure on… whoever did it was a real expert. He probably didn’t even have a chance to fight.” Conan shrugged and shook his head, as if it were a shame. “His nails were scrubbed clean, too. No evidence of who was in here. He was probably dead within two minutes. There was hardly any blood.”
Fake or not, the officer looked distinctly ill.
“I got lots of crime scene photos on my phone, though. Look.” Conan dug out his cellphone with one hand, but he scarcely had time to log in before KID snatched the journal away.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he muttered, gripping the book in desperation. Blackmail?
“Oi.” Conan held up his phone, and the officer turned away. “Don’t you think KID will be relieved that one of his detectives is gone?”
“No one would be pleased…”
“So why are you here, KID? Had to see for yourself that this threat was gone?”
“Death isn’t something to ever be celebrated!
With a snort, Conan nodded at the journal. “And that? Making sure that there’s nothing in there about you?”
“I’m just being thorough.” His voice turned cold, harsh. “Put your phone away.”
The boy gave a bitter laugh. “Can’t handle it, KID?”
“You don’t have any idea…” KID stopped, glancing up and over at the rest of the room as two more officers came in to continue the investigation of the normally orderly room, forcing filing drawers open, digging through the compartment under the window bench seat.
“Oi!” Conan called to one of them, waving an arm. “Oi, I think this officer’s a fake!”
It drew immediate attention, but by the time Conan turned around, KID was gone.
Dammit!
They combed the house for clues, tore apart the bedroom, confiscated Hakuba’s laptop and many other personal effects, but there was no more evidence to be found. He hadn’t been lying about it having been a professional job; there were no footprints, only the slightest traces of mud in the windowsill from the hedges just outside; no finger prints, no torn skin, no loose hairs, nothing. Just quietly murdered in the safety and comfort of his own home.
And while the Superintendent General barked orders at Megure and his team, Kogoro falling into step like old times, Hakuba’s Baaya stood in the hallway and sobbed into a handkerchief.
The autopsy report indicated that Hakuba Saguru had ingested a shot of scotch that night, which was stated to be normal behavior by his governess. There were no other drugs or toxins in his system. Other than the bruise on his cheek from the previous night, the only injury he’d sustained was the crushed windpipe from the tie garrote. Uncomfortable, yes, but an almost merciful death from an assassin.
They had no leads, no witnesses, and no ideas – other than the organization’s potential involvement, but even then, who did Conan know who used strangulation as their method of choice? Not Gin or Vodka, probably not Vermouth… most of the organization members he knew preferred to use guns. It was a dead end.
“The Metropolitan police are scratching their heads at the disturbingly quiet murder of the Superintendent General’s son, Hakuba Saguru, a famous international detective, who was strangled to death in his own home the other night… It seems that despite having all of their homicide detectives working on the case, no headway is being made, so it’s no wonder General Hakuba has allegedly called in some private investigators to continue looking into things on the side…”
It’d been days since the murder, and Mouri’s part in the investigation was still ongoing. They’d turned the briefcase in, given their statements of their personal involvement, and had agreed to stay on to help look for any more leads. But Conan already knew that if there had been anything of use, it’d have been in that journal, which Kaitou KID now had.
“Look! Look, Ran! Your old man is almost on!”
Ran and Conan both turned away from their homework to glance at the newscast on TV, which now had a photo of Kogoro among some other, more famous private investigators.
“They better use my voice clip!” Kogoro was in rare form.
“It’s a real tragedy,” the voice of one Mogi Harufumi took over, and footage of him speaking soon followed. The man wiped a tear from his eye, then shrugged, hands up. “He was a good kid, a real fine detective. Always willing to lend a hand or a few bucks when needed. We detectives look out for each other. He’s really going to be missed… but don’t worry, buddy, we’ll catch that bad guy for you!”
Just behind him in the background, Souda Ikumi was in the middle of rolling her eyes before the video feed cut back to the news reporter, who looked professionally sympathetic.
“Although the Superintendent General was unable to be reached for comment, we have been assured that the rest of the Hakuba family is, in fact, safe… and that they wish to thank to all of the hardworking men and women who have been on the case, as well extend their gratitude for all of the well-wishes and support in this troubling time.”
As the newscaster gave her closing statements about making offerings at local shrines, Kogoro slapped a hand on his desk and shook a fist at the television. “They didn’t even let me speak! I was at the scene!”
“Tou-san…” Ran chided him gently, tired.
Conan glanced to where the briefcase had been tucked away and frowned at the aching lump in his throat. He’d been there, sitting across from him on that couch. He’d asked for help. Was there something he could have done?
“Oh—we’ve just received notice from a special guest,” the reporter said, abandoning the discussion of ribbon day when a crew member pushed a white card into her hands. “It seems that Kaitou KID has condolences to offer, himself… Can we get this on screen?”
The card took over the broadcast, written carefully, caricature in the bottom right-hand corner as usual.
“The upcoming heist has been canceled in light of the recent tragedy,” she read. “It has become clear to me that everyone’s time is far better spent hunting the bastards responsible instead of chasing a silly thief. Rest assured, I will return, and that there will be justice for death of my detective.”
But there would be no justice for Hakuba Saguru… not for a long time.
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Fanart progress… trying a more strawberry-blonde look for Hakuba this time instead of my usual golden/sandy; we’ll see what happens as I continue to build up the color pallet, though. so much work left to be done. I’m HOPING that this will turn into a cover for Spark… just gotta draw a Conan, Ran, and […]
From kaitomagic:
Because I’m not one to believe people can be described so simply… my answer is, as follows:
Tsundere – You’re sort of cold in a hostile way, sometimes… but you really are a softie.
Kuudere – I suppose the silent doesn’t quite fit, but you do act rather cool a lot of the time… seeming to warm up a bit more when people prove that they can be trusted?
Dandere – Quiet, but not quiet. I suppose what I mean here is more in regards to inner thoughts and feelings.
Dorodere – Very sweet, when you want to be. And I don’t mean to say that you’re disturbed, but there is definitely more behind that wall.
Deredere – I must admit, I’m quite fond of this side of you.
—
“Kaito-kun… that’s… so very kind of you to say. I… I’m speechless. To think that you’ve… well…” He coughed. “…Ah, let’s… ah… your prompt, let’s see.”
—
Oh, and also… @$$.
—
@ – Smut
$ – Fluff
$ – Fluff
“Aha… … haha… … I see what you did there… very well, then. Ah…”
—
Hakuba rolled up into a sit, letting the covers slip into his lap and sighed, hand rubbing the side of his face tiredly. The night had been eventful. Dinner with the force, being denied drinks at the bar, dealing with the traffic – oh god the traffic – and the paparazzi at the scene. The heist itself had been fine, of course. Kaitou Kid did what he did best; dazzle the crowd, make the officers look utterly foolish, steal the gem, lead them on a merry chase…
In the end, he’d returned the jewel and escaped with only one or two minor mishaps, but it was still a harrowing affair. For the detective, who now kept a field bag of medical supplies in his car in the event of any grievous injuries, any time Kid got a clean getaway was a good night. So contrary to what he’d said to the press, of course, but he was relieved. It meant that, two or three hours later, he’d see one dark-haired, overly confident ass, complete with smrk, sneak into the window of his bedroom.
Whether it was Kaitou or Kuroba changed depending on how well things had gone, but he always showed up sooner or later. Unless something went wrong, that is; in which case he’d be getting a text, potentially with a location and summary of injuries and the supplies he needed.
That night, Kaito had come as a normal teenager, complete with backpack full of homework. He’d still snuck in through the window, sure, but it meant that he could join him for breakfast in the morning instead of having to sneak out again afterward. Once Hakuba had gotten him undressed and assessed the damage, one kiss at a time, they’d gone to bed.
Bruises he could handle. Scratches were to be expected. Hell, sprains and the like he could treat and still make love to him without worry. But even as their hearts pounded, and hands desperately grasped at sheets and naked skin, he worried. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he couldn’t stop. Fingers curled into his hair and that hazy look, the quiet cries of his name, urged him. Yet always, he wondered if this would be their last time together. Even when tension brought a startled cry in the back of his throat, there was just that one niggling fear that he couldn’t get rid of.
How long would their luck hold out?
Lying together in the still quiet was the detective’s most protected moments. Lazy kisses along his neck and cheek, gentle hand combing over bare skin as it cooled. Hakuba listened to Kaito’s breath, felt the beating of his heart, and allowed himself a contented sigh. It was a dangerous game that they played. Surely, it would be noticed eventually. Whether it would be Kaitou’s doing – too much of a longing gaze here, giving the heist up a little too easily there – or Hakuba’s, with his lulling aggression for the chase… it was bound to end.
These thoughts, ever present, plagued him until he sat up. Kaito watched him, lying on his side. One hand rested on his hip, the other held his head, brow curiously raised. The detective glanced down at the thief and pushed a small smile, though he knew that the thief could see right through it.
“Kuroba-kun…” Hakuba said, then laughed at himself, quietly. He was so prone to slipping into the formalities that they’d kept up in their daily lives; it was almost ridiculous. “Apologies. Kaito. I just…” He sighed, and let his smile quirk slanted, more genuine. “Shall I make us some tea? I don’t know that I’ll ever get to sleep otherwise."
Truthfully, he longed for the liquor cabinet or his pack of cigarettes, but he’d never get away with that with his lover there. Which was probably a good thing, really, given that it was a school night. But still, the headache that settled in begged for sleep, and Hakuba wanted nothing more than to slip back into the covers and hold him.
It was just so difficult to do when the nightmares lurked so close at hand.
The patterns on the ceiling were familiar. Textured scrapings of paint, put there intentionally to make it more aesthetically pleasing. The walls… they were familiar, too. He had spent a lot of time with them, this last couple of weeks… staring at them when he couldn’t sleep. Leaning against them for support when enough pain welled up to the surface again that his own legs could no longer hold him up. Hitting them when even that became too much. There were holes in the drywall that he’d have to explain whenever his mother came home again… but that didn’t really matter. All that mattered, right then, was that the sheets were still familiar, too. The fact that he could turn his head, move close to the pillow… and he could still smell him. Though it was fading with every day, he could still pick out the scent of soft cologne and earl gray… and the smell of his skin. Though the warmth was gone… and he knew it would never return. Just like the emptiness he’d never known was there before the detective had filled it would never recover from the loss and realization of its own inadequacy.
He’d always heard that there were worse things than death… and he understood what it meant, now.
Because he was the survivor.
struggling to kill off your favourite character? just imagine your future fans’ shocked faces as they read their final actions and laugh manically like the sadist you are
((Did so much thinking about the fic today… I am p sure I can fit it into the 5 parts I mentioned… wrote an outline, even! so many feels though, oh gosh. It will be difficult to write. I’m sorry for murdering you, Hakubby, but it was for a good cause.))
Summary: Hakuba is murdered after Conan refuses to help him with a case. While the circumstances surrounding his death seem straightforward enough, things become complicated after Conan begins to receive letters from Hakuba 45 days later. Using the clues and journals left for him, Conan must forge unexpected alliances to discover the truth behind their shared ‘Boscombe’ secrets.
This is part 1/5 (probably). Please note that this is not part of Call of the Raven, though of course a lot of my inspiration comes from the writings I’ve done with Clover and my other RP pals. Many thanks to those who’ve helped with this! <3
Posted to ffnet here. (my first ever posting there gasp!)
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Chapter 1
“So did you get hit in the face or what?”
“I don’t have a lot of time, Edogawa-kun. If you could stop evading my line of questioning, I’ll be able to do what I’ve come to do and be out of your way.”
Conan glanced up at the detective across the coffee table, who sat prim and proper, one leg crossed over the other, hands folded in his lap. The bruising cut across his cheekbone was the only thing that was out of place compared to the mental image that he kept of him, even down to the black briefcase at his feet. Hakuba Saguru was someone that he liked and respected. Despite his distant behavior, he was friendly enough, and a professional in his own right.
But today, he’d come with questions that the pint-sized detective wasn’t interested in answering.
“Hm… no.” The boy offered a shrug with his answer. “Uncle’s not here, so I can’t help you with your case, Hakuba-san. Client confidentiality and all, y’know.”
The blond sighed, lifting a hand to rub the bridge of his nose; a tired, but practiced action that he’d done more than half a dozen times since arriving fifteen minutes earlier. “Yes, I understand all of that. As a consultant, I have my own policies regarding this very thing, however-”
“So you know that I can’t tell you anything. Sorry, but you’re gonna have to find the information out for yourself. Not that that’ll be a problem for you, right? You’re the Sherlock of the new century!” Conan snickered, which only tightened Hakuba’s jaw.
“Speaking as one colleague to another, this is ridiculous. I need your help, Edogawa-kun. I know that you can. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“Haaakuba-san, I’m only six years old. You’re my senpai! How’m I supposed to help you?”
“Please… please don’t patronize me,” Hakuba said, shifting then to stand. His hands returned to their folded position, this time behind his back. “You don’t understand.”
“What do you mean?” Conan watched as Hakuba moved toward the window, gaze fixed on the navy suit jacket. It was neatly pressed, just as the rest of his clothing, just as it always was. That was Hakuba’s manner; clean, orderly, pristine. All according to regulation. Good, straight posture, head held high, but not too much. He wasn’t military or royalty, but he was disciplined. Hakuba came from money and private academies. But that didn’t change Conan’s position one bit.
“I know who you are.” The foreign detective sighed again. “I only haven’t been forward out of professional courtesy and respect for you.”
What? He couldn’t mean…
Conan froze, then shook his head, quirking a brow. “Huh?”
Hakuba glanced back over his shoulder, eyes narrowed, then turned back to the streets below. “Are you really going to deny that you are, in fact, Kudou Shinichi?”
Forcing an incredulous smirk, Conan flopped sideways onto the couch. “Aha ha he – what are you talking about? I know we look similar, but where’d you get that idea?”
“Data analysis. It’s really quite simple when you have all of the details, Kudou-san. I’ve been following your case for months. Which you’d know, had you bothered to read the letters that I’d sent.” Hakuba didn’t turn to look at him this time; Conan could only assume that he was observing the people below. His voice held none of that arrogant triumph that it normally did during other deductions. He kept the volume down, tone somber.
He knew about the letters. Fanmail from the other detective, all variations on pleas to work on cases together, despite that they both knew that neither of them enjoyed working with others. But… how much did Hakuba really know? He’d have to be careful, here. Conan wasn’t prepared to let another person into his circle, not yet. There was too much investment that went into it. Too much risk. Every person who learned the truth further diffused the responsibility and made it that much more dangerous for everyone involved. No, he was not willing to let that happen again. Not with Hakuba, who he only barely knew from a handful of other cases. Not when he couldn’t even get along with Hattori for five minutes.
“That’s stupid. Shinichi-niisan and I play soccer all the time. I think I’d know if I were secretly my hero, Hakuba-san. What kind of data would you have, anyway?”
“Again, there’s really not time for this, Kudou-san. If you could please cut the horseshit and give me the information that I need, I’ll be on my way.”
It was a bluff, then. He’d seen Hakuba on the news and in interviews; he loved showing off. He lived for the glamour and thrill of running circles around the lesser, especially when he could get them riled up. Missing an opportunity to impress Conan, his self-appointed kohai and apprentice, according to a magazine article a couple of months ago, though? Never.
“I can’t tell you anything until you prove it, Hakuba-san. And it’d better be quick, ’cause Ran-neechan’s gonna be home soon, and she won’t like that you’re stalking her boooyfriend~!”
Hakuba stiffened, finally turning to face him again, leaning against the glass. His gaze, now icy stone, moved from Conan to the door, then back. “You’d like me to prove it. Irrefutably?”
Conan kicked his feet against the arm of the couch, folding arms behind his head. “Yep.”
Hakuba closed his eyes a moment, took in a deep breath, then forced a small smile. “All right, then. But I’ll need to use your cellphone.”
Really? Conan rolled his eyes as he fished the phone from his pocket and held it up, unable to hold back the smug smirk on his face. “Sure.” It was clean, he knew. All data safely tucked away where no one could find it. At least, not in the few minutes Hakuba had before Ran came home.
“Thank you.”
“Whatcha gonna do with it?”
“I’m about to make a call.”
Conan rolled his eyes. “What’s that gonna do?”
“You’ll see.”
Amused, Conan watched as Hakuba started his pacing again, probably to figure out how to work the thing. A moment later, Hakuba took out his own phone and typed in a speed dial code, then held it up to his ear, looking back at him with a smirk of his own. The expression changed to one of horror, though, right before he began to speak.
“H-hello?!” Hakuba stammered, eyes wide. “Oh, thank god you’ve answered. I need your help.”
Conan sat up. What was this…?
“No, no, I’m fine… but it’s Kudou-san. He’s missing.” Hakuba nodded his head to the voice on the other end of the line, biting his lip. “No, you don’t understand, Hattori-san…”
Conan frowned. Shit.
“Hattori-san!” Hakuba hissed. “I need to know who knows about him.” A pause. “You know, about his little secret? He’s been compromised.” He glanced back to Conan again, giving a thumbs up.
Shit.
“I really don’t know where, but… no. Oh, god, he’s not supposed to know? Mouri-san was just… Oh, no… oh, god no. If that’s true, this building isn’t safe. Could you call him, please? I’ve got to get Megure-keibu on the line immediately.”
Dammit… dammit! Conan bit his lip. He could see what was going to happen already, and it wasn’t going to be good. Not at all.
“Yes, thank you. I’ll let you know if I hear anything at all.” Hakuba hung up, then tucked his own phone back into his pocket, lifting Conan’s phone up to inspect again, smug smirk back on that arrogant face. “How long do you suppose it’ll take?”
Conan thought about fighting it. If he lunged hard enough to the side or back of his legs, he might be able to knock the British bastard down to the floor, long enough to take his phone back. But, doing so would only confirm suspicions. He clenched his fists instead, grinning while he hoped that Hattori would be smart enough to call his other line. “I dunno what you mean, but it’s pretty low to worry Heiji-niisan like that.”
The little red phone vibrated. Hakuba glanced at the caller ID and gasped, turning it to show the Osakan’s photo. He opened the phone and hit the speaker.
“Oi! Kudo?! Are you okay?!”
Conan sighed. “Dammit, Hattori.”
“Where are ya?! Hakuba said ya were in trouble!”
“No… no, Hattori, I’m fine. Hakuba’s just… Can I have my phone back now?”
Hakuba offered it to him, brows lifted high in amusement, which only frustrated Conan more. Damn him… damn him!
“Hakuba’s just… what?”
Conan turned speaker off and adjusted his glasses once the phone was tucked against his ear. “So you just gave my secret away to your arch nemesis.”
“I WHAT?!”
“My apologies, Hattori-san,” Hakuba said, hands slipping into his pockets. “Kudou-san asked me to prove his identity and now I’ve accomplished this with your help. Thank you for your assistance.”
“HAKUBA?!”
Conan held the phone out away from his ear and glared up at him. “YEP. And now I’ve gotta do some damage control so talk to you later, Hattori.”
“I’LL KILL THAT BASTA-”
Click. Conan put the phone away, and folded his arms across his chest. “So.”
“So, if you’ll please tell me about that bank robbery Mouri-san was called in to discuss, I’d greatly appreciate it, Kudou-san.”
“Don’t call me that. Not here. Are you stupid?”
Hakuba frowned, taking a seat on the opposite couch once more. “Pardon. Edogawa-kun, if you could relay any information you have regarding the criminals…”
“No.”
“What? But I’ve just proven that…”
“So what?”
“Isn’t that the deal we established?”
“No. I don’t make negotiations with that kind of information, Hakuba.”
“Edogawa-kun, I don’t think you understand how important this is. I have reason to believe that those criminals have been involved in other robberies of this very same kind…”
“Yeah, bank robbers will do that. That’s kind of their thing.”
“It’s not just that. This is part of something else. Something larger. From what I’ve been able to learn thus far, if my theories are correct, this so-called small-time robbery was actually the targeted work of an organized syndicate. I think they’re after something specific.”
Conan returned to his seat, careful to keep his expression deadpan as he listened to Hakuba go on and on. He was absolutely correct, of course, but there was no way that he was going to let him get involved with them. Especially now that he knew the truth about Conan. He shrugged. “The reports say otherwise. The guys weren’t connected to any of the other burglaries. None have a history with each other, just a rap sheet for other stuff. Arson, auto theft, shoplifting… Just regular crooks.”
“You can’t really believe that. Surely, you’ve seen the pattern. The types of banks that are being hit, the kind of clientele that they service. It’s all related. It’s connected.”
“No… pretty sure that you just sound crazy.”
Hakuba gaped. “You… you must be joking. You, of all people, would know.”
“Yeah. I know. I thought that at first, too, but I’ve been over the same information a hundred times, and it’s just coincidence. They’re not related, Hakuba. You’re just wasting your time.”
He stared, brows furrowed, mouth still open in disbelief. “I know what I’ve found in the evidence, Edogawa-kun. It’s Baskerville all over again.”
Conan got up, took his glasses off, and cleaned them with the tails of his shirt. “Oi… You really want to get into Holmes with me, Hakuba?”
“It’s better than your passive aggressive comments and blatant lies.”
“’…When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth,’ Hakuba. I’ve already eliminated that possibility, so what does that tell you?”
Hakuba went back to rubbing the bridge of his nose. “That this is either a Boscombe secret or you really just don’t care for me.”
Conan tilted his head, humming as he put his glasses back on. “Yeah, that’s probably true. Hattori was right about you. You really are kind of obnoxious.”
There was a pause, then, as Hakuba regarded the boy in silence. Gone was the attitude, replaced with another icy stare. “Be that as it may, I need to see the case file, Edogawa-kun. Please.”
“No.”
Hakuba closed his eyes and withdrew the silver watch from his pocket. He flipped it open, glanced down, then snapped it closed before standing up. “Very well. I shall return tomorrow with a warrant.”
“Oi, you’re gonna pull rank, then? I thought you were better than that, Hakuba.”
He shook his head as he walked to the door, hands slipping back into his pockets. “I’ll be going through the proper channels, as always. I’m not a poor sport like some of our colleagues and associates, Edogawa-kun.”
“Yeah… good luck with that.”
Hakuba opened the door and stepped out onto the landing, looking back only to nod his head. “Cheers,” he said, voice humorless, and left.
Conan waited until the door clicked closed before turning back to the briefcase that had been left behind. The question was if Hakuba were really that upset with his sarcastic remarks or if he’d meant to leave it behind. Regardless, there was definitely going to be something worth reading in there. He tested the latches and found the lock along the side. Four number dials. It wouldn’t take him long to crack; while Hakuba was intelligent, he was predictable. All of that procedure and protocol. But it’d have to wait until everyone else went to bed.
Fortunately, the briefcase wasn’t all that heavy. Conan fit it neatly between the filing cabinet and the wall and set up camp back on the couch to wait for the Mouris to come home.
It was just past two am when Conan returned to the office. He switched on the desk lamp and retrieved the briefcase. Heiji had expected his call.
“Yeah, we really need to work on that…”
“I’m sorry, Kudo! That damn halfer had me worried.”
“Yeah, I know.” Conan sighed, spinning the dials. “Let’s see here…”
“What’re ya doin?”
“Hakuba left his briefcase here. I’m breaking into it.” Conan paused to let Heiji laugh before he continued. “Four numbers. It can’t be that hard.”
“Try 1234.”
“Just did, wasn’t it. So I guess the half-brit half-wit has that going for him, at least.”
“Half-brit half-wit?” Hattori cackled again.
“Yeah. But that was really dumb, though, letting him manipulate you like that.”
“Ya coulda’ said somethin’ if ya were standin’ right there ya know.”
Conan tilted his head at that. “Yeah… but I wanted to see what you would do, I guess.” He spun the dials again. “Hm, I wonder if…”
“What’re ya tryin’ this time?”
“Just a sec.” Conan blinked as the latch flipped open. “Huh. Go figure. That was it.”
“What was?”
“4869.” He lifted the lid, peering inside. No surprises, just papers. Good. Laying the lid against the desk, Conan began his investigation of the briefcase’s contents.
“An’ it was right? Where the hell didja get that?”
“It’s pretty simple, really. Hakuba’s a big Sherlock Holmes nut. 4869. Shi-hachi-roku-kyu. Shi-ha-ro-ku. Sherlock.” Conan sighed, feeling odd contentment at that. Clever. Maybe they had more in common than he thought. He’d need to change the password to his cellphone before they saw each other again.
“Hah! Who’d be stupid enough ta set that as their combination? That’s real obvious.”
“…Eh, yeah. Totally.” Grateful that Heiji couldn’t see his embarrassment, Conan pulled out a manila folder and pawed through. Case files, neatly organized with copies of reports, legal documents, and pages of hand-written notes. A small pencil case with highlighters, pens, and a mechanical drafting pencil kept them in place, nestled against the side. Rubber bands kept each folder closed. “Geez this guy is organized.”
“So what’s in it?”
“Bunch of homework, it looks like. Stuff for court and cases. The recent bank robberies, too.” He pulled the next folder out and slipped the rubber band off, setting it aside. “That’s what he was over here for today, by the way. Asking for Occhan’s files on it.”
“Didja give it to him?”
“Pft, no. Are you kidding? It’s bad enough that he knows who I am. I really don’t think he should be messing around with those crows, too.” Conan flipped through the pages of notes and stifled a yawn. “He sure has a lot of info, though…”
“Anythin’ useful?”
“Probably not. I mean, there are some police reports here that I haven’t seen, but we can get those any time. Megure-keibu’s been anxious for our help lately.” He turned another page, then paused. “Hey, there’s an envelope here.”
“Yeah?”
Conan picked it up and held it up to the light. “Addressed to Hakuba.” It had already been opened, so he slipped the letter out and flattened it over the folder. “Huh.”
“What?”
“It’s written completely in kanji. No kana anywhere. It looks like a ransom note, each character pieced together from…” The boy frowned, reflexively pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, leaning in for a closer look. “Shit.”
“Kudou?”
“This isn’t a ransom note; it’s a death threat.”
“Against Hakuba?”
“Yeah. It’s kind of disjointed; looks like they went out of their way to make it confusing, but this is definitely a…” He scanned the page again, taking note of the small notes written in the margins. “Oi, Hattori. Do you still have Hakuba’s number in your cell?”
“Yeah…”
“Call him. I’m going to get Megure-keibu on the line.”
“What? Why?”
“I think they’re going to try to kill him tonight… and I don’t think that Hakuba knows.”
I haven’t written much on the fic lately but I have been thinking about it a lot. It’s turning into a very romantic thing, which isn’t exactly what I’d intended, but I think it will be nice… especially with all of the recent talk about Ran needing to be given fair representation in fics… yes, I think it will be good.
who knew that strangling hakuba to death = love story?
=
work in the morning, but researching crime scenes because the fic still isn’t finished ughhh I had ONE JOB this holiday break…