72: Chapter 72: Truck-kun, Round Two

"Fujino-kun?"

"Officer Sato?"

At the crime scene, Fujino heard a familiar voice and turned.

He saw Sato Miwako leading a team into the room.

"What are you doing here?"

Sato approached Fujino first.

"I was invited to participate in a variety show,"

Fujino explained, scratching the back of his head.

"Who knew something like this would happen right after filming wrapped up..."

"I see."

Looking at Fujino, Sato couldn't help but sigh softly.

This guy... just like Kudo Shinichi, trouble seems to follow him wherever he goes!

She then directed her accompanying officers to begin processing the crime scene.

Suwa's body lay slumped against the windowsill in the fourth-floor conference room.

A bullet had passed through his head, shattering the glass behind him.

Blood spatter coated the panes of the vertically opening window.

Beside the body lay a handgun and a portable phone (an early brick-style cell phone).

The upper part of the phone was stained red.

After examination, the forensics team found two bullet holes scattered on the wall behind Suwa's body.

Two in the poster, and one near the clock high on the wall, the slugs embedded within.

In a corner of the conference room, police collected four spent shell casings.

These matched the bullets recovered from the wall and the one that had killed Suwa Michihiko.

By interviewing people nearby, the time of death was established: sometime between 8:15 PM and 8:55 PM, during the recording of the show.

Fujino stood to the side of the crime scene, watching grimly as the forensics team worked around the body on the floor.

He felt no discomfort, no empathy, no sense of shared mortality...

Just detached observation of a cold corpse.

Somewhere along the line, he'd become numb to it.

Fujino shook his head, pushing the unsettling thought away.

Even having watched over a thousand episodes of Conan from a third-person perspective in his past life, experiencing it firsthand was different.

Without the system's prompts, details could still be missed.

Collecting ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠himself, Fujino took a deep breath and called out to Sato Miwako,

"I know how the killer murdered Mr. Suwa!"

"Already?"

Sato turned towards Fujino, surprised.

It wasn't just his speed in solving the case.

It was the expression on Fujino's face... unusually dark and somber.

Fujino pointed to the upper right side of his own forehead.

"Normally, if shot directly from the front, the entry and exit wounds would be roughly parallel, wouldn't they?"

"From above?"

Sato frowned, quickly examining the bullet trajectory on the body. She nodded.

"You're right. If he were shot face-on, the path through the head should be relatively straight. But this wound... it's angled downwards, entering the upper right forehead and exiting the lower left cerebellum."

"And then there's the window,"

Fujino continued, pointing to the window behind Suwa's body.

"If Mr. Suwa was killed right in front of the window, logically, the entire frame should be covered in blood spatter. But aside from the glass panes, the window frame itself is clean."

"Therefore, I deduce the killer didn't shoot Suwa Michihiko from the front, but fired downwards ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠from above."

Fujino walked to the window and demonstrated, leaning out slightly.

"The killer first lured Mr. Suwa into sticking his head out this window. Then, from a room directly above this one, they shot downwards, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠killing him instantly."

"But why would Mr. Suwa stick his head out the window, giving the killer the opportunity..."

Sato's words trailed off as she looked at the blood-stained portable phone lying near the body.

"Could it be..."

"Exactly."

Fujino nodded at Sato, then pointed towards Matsuo Takashi.

"The killer is none other than the show's host, Matsuo Takashi."

"He first created those bullet holes in this room earlier. Then, during the commercial break, using the excuse of an upset stomach, he ran up to the room directly above this one. He called Mr. Suwa's portable phone, luring him to the window, and shot him... Afterwards, he dropped the gun back into this room."

"This way, he created a perfect alibi for himself!"

"We just need to check his phone records to confirm if he called Mr. Suwa."

"After all, these early 'brick' phones... they store the last number dialed..."

Faced with Fujino's deduction, Matsuo Takashi quickly confessed.

Simultaneously, the police found gunpowder residue in the room on the seventh floor directly above the conference room, and they recovered the fatal bullet from the ground below.

Matsuo Takashi, having fired in a hurry without time to properly clean up, also had gunpowder residue on his sleeve.

And just like that, the case was closed.

Late night.

Snowflakes drifted gently down, blanketing the streets in white. Faint tire tracks marked the otherwise pristine snow.

Having wrapped up the case, Fujino rode his motorcycle through the quiet streets, heading back towards Go-chome.

Watching the sparse snowflakes hit his helmet visor, Fujino sighed.

Yesterday was a warm, sunny day. How is it snowing today?

The weather in the Conan world is just as bizarre as its timeline...

Shaking off the thought, he glanced at his rearview mirror. Headlights reflected back. He frowned.

"Isn't that too much of a coincidence?"

Through the falling snow, less than twenty meters behind him, a white, flat-nosed dump truck was also driving down the snow-covered street.

Its high beams were on, obscuring the driver's cab.

For a while now, this truck had been tailing him. It had even followed him through several turns.

"Why is that dump truck still behind me?"

Fujino's eyes narrowed. He deliberately turned onto a street heading away from his home.

Checking the mirror again – the truck followed.

"They're after me?"

Fujino gripped the handlebars tightly, watching the truck in the mirror, a bad feeling rising in his gut.

[Detective Enhancement Activated: Host Physical Ability +200%]

"VROOOM!"

Just as the system enhancement kicked in, the roar of an engine surged from behind.

The dump truck, which had been maintaining a steady speed, suddenly accelerated.

Its tires screeched briefly, losing traction on the snow.

Then, the massive vehicle barreled towards Fujino's motorcycle at easily seventy or eighty kilometers per hour.