"What were you doing there?" asked Miss Iwakiri sternly.
The young Utuber, still white as a sheet, avoided the inquisitive gaze of the woman and turned his attention to the carpeted floor of the large living room. He was still in shock after seeing a dead body up close, which had dampened his desire for fame.
"I had locked the door, so what were you doing there?" Asked again the young woman, more aggressive this time.
Kitta Kitta hesitated a little more, and looking up, saw that everyone in the room was staring at him and watching his every movement; which made him even more uncomfortable.
"Now that we know for sure that this is a murder, it's obvious," began Mr. Nakai. "That kid killed the old man to make money with his videos!"
"No! I didn't!" The boy immediately contested. "I really didn't do anything!"
"Then why were you upstairs in a room that was already locked?" Mister Nakatsuki asked.
The older man, with a calmer and less violent tone than the others, must have seemed to be the young man's lifeline, because suddenly Kitta Kitta turned a tearful gaze towards him.
"I really didn't do anything Sir!" He pleaded. "I just stole the keys because I wanted to see if the ghost was still there! But when I saw the old man on the floor..."
"You couldn't help but scream in fear, could you?" Mister Nakatsuki sighed.
He was saying this with such ease, despite the fact that he was the one who had been freaking out earlier for no reason. I was in awe of his ability to keep up appearances, even with several people knowing what had happened, and who by now knew he was a coward.
"Y-Yeah..." He stammered, sniffling. "It scared the hell out of me..."
Miss Iwakiri continued to glare at him; surely because she was angry at the young man for going through her things to steal the keys, which the young man sensed without even having to look at her.
However, even if Kitta Kitta had broken into the room and done something wrong, there was a more pressing matter at hand.
"We all saw the same thing, right?" Mister Nakai asked.
The large living room where everyone had gathered was silent for a moment, everybody mentally answering in the affirmative.
Then, turning to Miss Iwakiri, the producer addressed her.
"It is clear that the owner was strangled, yet you did not say anything when his body was discovered..." Observed he, which destabilized a little the employee.
Then, bringing the index finger to his own neck, he mimed two lines by passing his finger from the left to the right.
"There were two distinct marks there," he added. "Knowing that he couldn't have done this to himself, it was clearly murder. So why didn't you say anything?"
Miss Iwakiri was about to speak, when against all odds, my supervisor spoke up.
"When the body was first discovered, Mr. Yazawa was on his stomach," Mr. Nakatsuki explained. "So we couldn't see those marks. But now that he's on his back..."
"Does that mean the body has been moved since then?" Questioned the singer, Mr. Ishibashi.
"I didn't touch it!" Kitta Kitta immediately replied.
"In that case, does that mean that someone else entered the room before the kid? Supposed Mister Nakai. "But who?"
"It's obvious though, isn't it?" Intervened Noel. "It must be the killer. And he's among us."
With these words, the entire production team and the guests stared at each other.
But even if there was a killer in the room and we didn't know who it was, one thing was certain.
"At least we know which people can't be guilty," Noel declared.
"Really?" My manager marveled, raising an eyebrow. "How so?"
Noel crossed her arms, and stepped into the middle of the group that had formed in the center of the room, all around the couches and the young Utuber sitting on one of them.
"At the time Yazawa-san was killed, I was here with some other people," she explained, before beginning to point out each person whose name or function she said. "Those two people from the publishing house, the boarding house employee, Manabe-san, Harada-san, and two other people from the production team."
"So you're implying that these people could not have committed the murder, and that the killer is one of us?" Mister Nakai deduced with a disgruntled expression. "That's ridiculous!"
Although Noel didn't answer, it seemed to me that most of the people present agreed with her observation: we had all witnessed the murder from a distance, via the walkie-talkies. Thus, it was impossible to be in two places at the same time.
However, something bothered me about what she had just said.
"It doesn't make sense," I said, drawing stares from everyone.
They must not have been used to hearing me talk, since I rarely spoke, and even Mr. Nakatsuki was surprised by my words.
Seeing that they were all waiting for me to complete my sentence interrupted in the middle, I continued:
"If we are innocent because we were in the big living room, it's because we heard the owner just before he died, through the walkie-talkie," I explained. "Right?"
Noel and my supervisor nodded their heads in agreement, while Mister Nakai lost a little more patience.
"So what? Are you accusing us of killing the owner?" He asked animatedly.
"You had a fight with him, though..." Mister Ushibashi pointed out, glancing at Mister Nakai.
"You too." My supervisor snapped at the young singer, looking back at him. "You are both suspects, in my eyes."
Then, turning to me, my colleague then asked me this question.
"What do you mean by your comment, Nijima?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.
I was a little hesitant to elaborate on my thought, as many people were looking at me at the same time, and I didn't know which person to focus on to answer, nor did I know who to observe to try to read their emotions or attitude. Still, it was too weird for me to keep this information to myself.
"We should be the only ones who know what was said, right?" I remarked. "Yet, just now, this person said 'we heard him say he saw something'."
As I said this, I pointed to a person in the room, and in one fluid motion, everyone followed my movement with their eyes, turning their heads to the young Kitta Kitta still sitting on the couch.
"M... Me?" Said the boy, taken aback, pointing to himself.
I could see by his attitude that he was agitated, and felt guilty, seeing how he could no longer hold the gaze of anyone in the room. Right after that, he had crossed his hands in front of him, on his thighs; and he had even slightly curled up on himself, as if he wanted to occupy as little space as possible on the couch.
He definitely knew something.
"Now that you mention it, I do remember that," Mr. Nakatsuki interjected. Then, still giving the young man an inquisitive look, he added: "So how could you know that, when you weren't in the living room with us?"
The young man must have felt all the doubts about him by now, because he swallowed slowly before starting to stare at his own hands.
"Besides, he stole my keys and came back to the crime scene," Miss Iwakiri added. "Only a guilty person would do that."
"I swear I didn't do anything!" Kitta Kitta exclaimed. "I stole the keys and broke into the room, but I didn't do anything else!"
"Then how do you know what Yazawa-san said before he died?" Mister Nakai questioned him.
The boy, still of high school age and cornered on all sides, didn't dare to say another word, and then I saw his nervous gaze move to one of the bookcases in the room. If this movement seemed harmless to the others in attendance, it was an unconscious admission to me; and following with my eyes the direction in which his attention had turned, I frowned.
Unlike the rest of the library, some of the books did not have their titles written the right way round. A sign that they had recently been moved without being put back in their proper place.
Seeing that he certainly wouldn't say anything about it, I silently walked towards the wall filled with books, under the curious eyes of all the other people in the room.
Stopping in front of the displaced books, I felt Kitta Kitta's distraught gaze upon me. Then, pulling back the books and dipping my hand behind them, I felt a small rectangular object on my fingertips that didn't belong there.
Turning to the others, I then showed what I had discovered, causing surprise and amazement.
"A video camera?!" Mister Nakatsuki exclaimed with shock.
"He hid a video camera?!" Mr. Ishibashi exclaimed with surprise.
"This kid is less stupid than he looks," said Mr. Nakai with malice.
I inspected the object, and seeing that a recording was still in progress, I stopped it.
"It was still recording," I said, pointing to the screen of the little device that now lacked the red dot indicating that it was on.
"So all this time we were being filmed?" Asked Miss Iwakiri, worried. "But why?"
Reproachful looks turned to the boy, who with a disappointed look knew he couldn't lie about it anymore.
"I... I wanted to make an authentic video," he explained. "To get my viewers in the mood, showing people other than myself..."
"Without asking our opinion? While there is the issue of Image right here?" Noel reprimanded him.
"Sorry..." He apologized.
I put the little video camera down on the coffee table and went to stand next to my colleague again. The latter immediately leaned towards me.
"You're doing great, Nijima," he whispered to me. "I never thought we were being filmed..."
I nodded silently. I wasn't sure how to respond to that.
It wasn't that I was embarrassed by his words, but rather that I hadn't thought of anything to say, a little taken aback by a sudden and stealthyly-delivered compliment.
It was not by chance that I noticed the words of the camera boy either. Being a constant observer of people, I could naturally see things that others did not.
The silence in which I hid taught me more about those around me than a thousand words. That same silence, which now informed me that people were beginning to suspect each other. Almost without my noticing, the room had split in two: on one side, the people who had an alibi because they were in the big living room - and I was one of them - and on the other side, all those whose ins and outs were unknown or uncertain at the time of the murder.
"I know I shouldn't have filmed you all without your knowledge, but I swear I really didn't kill the old man..." Kitta Kitta pleaded once again. "I didn't even know him before I came here, and I hardly spoke to him either..."
"It's true that in terms of logic, he didn't have a clear reason for murdering someone," conceded Noel. Then, turning her head towards the other group, and more specifically the producer and the singer, she added: "Whereas other people interacted with him much more, and even argued."
"Arguing can make people want to kill themselves, but who would be stupid enough to really kill someone for that?" Mister Nakai scoffed, caustically. "What's more, with lots of people around?"
"Especially if the subject of the argument isn't worth it at all," Mr. Ishibashi added.
"By the way, what were you two arguing about with the owner?" Noel asked.
The two men gave each other a sidelong glance, before looking at the model again, and taking a defensive posture.
"Production secret," retorted Mr. Nakai.
"Personal problem," replied Mr. Ishibashi.
They weren't going to say what it was about, preferring to keep it quiet.
Noel sighed.
"Relax, I'm not the police, and anyway, we're stuck here until tomorrow morning at least," she said to lighten the mood. "We'll leave it to the real police to investigate and find the real culprit."
Following this statement, everyone seemed to agree, and it was decided that everyone would spend their time as they wished until the police arrived, while avoiding incidents similar to the young Utuber's break-in. No one was to enter the owner's room, nor was anyone to accuse others, in order to maintain a degree of calm.
Carefully, Kitta Kitta retrieved the small video recorder that I had put on the coffee table, while Mr. Nakatsuki took his place on the sofa.
The production team, composed of the producer, the production assistant and four audiovisual technicians, accompanied by Mr. Manabe, returned to their rooms on the upper floors. A group already divided between those who had an alibi and those who did not.
Noel, for her part, asked Mr. Harada to finish clearing the door of her room, and the man complied, informing her that it would probably take about fifteen minutes, while he put away all the cables and the equipment previously installed. The young woman then busied herself consulting the books which were in the library, while the singer asked Miss Iwakiri if he could speak to her for a moment. She agreed, and both of them disappeared down the corridor and towards the entrance of the residence. I assumed that they had probably gone out to the covered courtyard in front of the big door leading to the parking lot, to have a quiet talk.
I wondered what they would say to each other, but they were under no obligation to tell me.
Pulling my cell phone out of my pocket, I checked the time - soon to be 9pm - and saw that only one network line had returned. Probably not enough to make a call, but maybe a text message would get through?
I wasn't in the habit of checking in with anyone, whether it was my parents, or even my employer. I was always passive, until someone finally decided to contact me. And so I found it strange that for once I wanted to contact the detective first.
Nevertheless, I wasn't sure if it was worth it. The situation seemed stable, and even if I contacted her, Miss Hiraoka was too far away to do anything.
Soon, the silence punctuated by the sound of Noel turning pages was enriched by the snoring of my supervisor; and I was left alone, lost in my thoughts.
Even though the police would arrive tomorrow, and no one could leave for the moment because of the cut-off road, I still felt the same sensation as when I had to urgently hand in a correction of a manuscript, well before the scheduled date. Probably stress, or worry. I was never sure if it was one or the other, or a mixture of both.
However, this feeling, whatever it was called, made me cautious. Despite the apparent calm, there was still a threat hanging over our heads.
Someone, within these walls, had committed murder; and had not been afraid to do so even though others were present.