The Strange Photograph
"Look up," Cointreau said. "See the fire sprinklers up there on the ceiling?"
Bourbon tilted his head back toward the ceiling, and there they were — sprinkler units dotted across it at regular intervals. A cold weight settled in his chest.
Before he could say a word, Cointreau continued. "There's a special agent inside them. Perfectly harmless to the human body, but it dissolves disguise materials. So if you don't agree to keep that mouth of yours shut, I'll trigger the sprinklers."
"This floor is sealed off right now, and I imagine you don't have anything waterproof on you. In which case, I suppose you'll be performing your little 'magical transformation' act in front of this entire crowd."
"Oh, and one more thing — if I remember correctly, Bourbon, your next assignment is to get close to the Mouri Kogoro family. Well, they're here right now. If you expose your true face in front of them today, I doubt you'll ever be able to approach them again."
"And then you'd never complete the mission the Organization gave you..."
Cointreau let the words hang there, a flicker of deeper meaning in his eyes.
Bourbon's grip tightened around his phone.
He was right. Bourbon couldn't let his true face be revealed — not now, and above all not in front of Mouri Kogoro.
And yet being strong-armed into compliance like this left a bitter taste in his mouth.
"Fine," Bourbon said, his voice taut. "I promise. I won't tell anyone in the Organization about this."
"Good," Cointreau replied.
He caught the unspoken caveat immediately — anyone in the Organization. Which meant people outside the Organization were fair game.
Still, he didn't let it worry him. He'd known for a long time that Bourbon was with Public Security, and there was no way he'd leave such a critical piece of intelligence unverified.
But official agencies, no matter how capable, operated within limits. Given the connections Xia Xi now had, they couldn't touch her openly. And even a covert investigation would turn up little of use — there genuinely was nothing suspicious about her. On top of that, once they'd located her, Cointreau had tidied up the trail of information surrounding Xia Xi, so as far as anyone could see, she was an perfectly ordinary girl. At worst, the company she kept was a little unusual.
Cointreau was about to hang up when he heard Bourbon laugh softly on the other end of the line, almost playful. "I had no idea you trusted me so much, Cointreau. Aren't you worried I'll go back on my word the moment I walk out of here? After all, your little threat stops working the second I leave this mall."
"Then from that moment on, we're enemies." And enemies, I show no mercy.
With that, Cointreau hung up.
The meaning behind those final words sank in, and Bourbon's expression darkened in an instant. His hand clenched around the phone, a glint of frost passing through his eyes.
He understood now — that last line was the real threat. But they were both members of the Organization, and so long as neither crossed certain lines, there were things neither could afford to do too openly.
Besides, given Cointreau's standing within the Organization, he truly couldn't afford to offend him. Otherwise the consequences for his own undercover work there would be impossible to predict.
Bourbon drew a slow breath and steadied himself.
He couldn't let Cointreau lead him around by the nose. For the time being, Cointreau would almost certainly be watching him, so he couldn't make a move.
Once enough time had passed, he could have Kazami Yuuya quietly look into that girl's background first, and decide his next move based on what turned up.
Meanwhile, at the center of the crowd, Conan had already unraveled the truth of the case. He was tucked away behind the unconscious Mouri Kogoro — whom he'd tranquilized himself — deducing the solution through the voice-changer in his bowtie.
As it turned out, the whole affair had begun with a shop clerk who sold red T-shirts. She had mailed clothing to the culprit as a reminder of how he had murdered her father on a snow mountain ten years ago, hoping to bait him into slipping up.
But the culprit had seen through it, and so he staged his own kidnapping — strapping himself into a bomb to flush out whoever had sent the package.
The bomb on the stairwell, and the one on his body, were both fakes.
With the crisis over, everyone finally let out a collective sigh of relief.
"Mr. Mouri, you looked so handsome solving the case in your sleep. I took tons of photos — would you all like to see?" Charlotte held up her camera, smiling.
"Ooh, let me!" Ran took the camera with interest. "Wow, you really did — there's everything from him puzzling over the shirt to him bowing his head and cracking the case at the end!"
"Though it's a little strange... Daddy's mouth is closed in every single one of the later shots..." Flipping through to the end, Ran murmured the observation under her breath, puzzled.
Her voice was soft, but Conan heard it anyway.
A cold sweat broke out across his forehead. He hadn't given a second thought to the photos Charlotte had taken — now he had no choice but to care.