L had earned a certain degree of hostility from other detectives, and the jealous ones called him a hermit detective, or a computer detective, but neither one of these is a particularly accurate representation of the truth. Naomi Misora had also tended to think of L as an armchair detective, but in fact, L was quite the opposite, a very active, aggressive individual. While he had absolutely no interest in social conventions, he was certainly not the kind of detective to shut himself up in a dark room with the shades drawn and refuse to come out. It is now common knowledge that the three great post war detectives, L, Eraldo Coil and Danueve were all actually the same person. Certainly, anyone reading these notes is almost certain to know... though they may not know that L engaged in a war with the real Eraldo Coil, and the real Danueve, and emerged victorious, (Claiming their detective codes. The details of this detective war I will save for another occasion, but in addition to those three names, L possessed many other detective codes. I have no idea how many, but there were at least three digits' worth. And quite a number of those were fairly public detectives—just like, as anyone reading these notes must know, he appeared before Kira, calling himself Ryuzaki or Ryuga Hideki.) Of course, Naomi Misora had no way of knowing his, but in my opinion, the name L was, for him, just one of many. He never had any direct connection to that identity. He never thought of himself as L, it was just the most famous and most powerful of the many detective codes that he used during his life. The name had is uses, but lacked obscurity. L had a real name that nobody knew, and nobody will ever know, but a name which only he knew never defined him. I sometimes wonder if L himself ever knew exactly which name was written in the Death Note, which name it was that killed him.
I wonder.
But back to the Los Angeles BB Murder Cases.
"Ryuzaki…" Naomi Misora said, looking over the black business card be had handed her without bothering to hide her suspicious. "Rue Ryuzaki, right?"
"Yes. Rue Ryuzaki," the man said, in the same unruffled tone. His wide eyes stared at her through the dark circles around them, and he nibbled at his thumbnail.
They had moved out of the bedroom into the living room of Believe Bridesmaid's house. They were sitting opposite each other on expensive sofas. Ryuzaki was seated with his knees up and his arms wrapped around them. Misora thought this looked a little childish, but since Ryuzaki was obviously not a child, it seemed a little creepy. The fact that she failed to comment on it at all was because she was much too grown up. To escape the awkward silence, Misora looked down at the card again—Rue Ryuzaki: Detective.
"According to this, you're a detective?"
"Yes, I am,"
"You mean... a private detective?"
"No, that term would not be very accurate. I feel the word 'private' carries with it an excess of neurotic egotism... you might say that I am an unprivate detective—a detective without ego."
"I see..."
In other words, he didn't have a license.
If she'd had a pen, she would have written "idiot" on the card, but sadly, there were no writing implements within reach, so she settled for putting it down on the table as far from her as possible, as if it were unclean.
"So, Ryuzaki... let me ask again, what exactly were you doing down there?"
"Same as you. Investigating," Ryuzaki said, without the slightest change in his expression.
His black-rimmed eyes never blinked. Rather unsettling.
"I was hired by the parents of this house's owner—by Mr. Bridesmaid's parents, and am currently conducting an investigation into the killings. It seemed to me that you were here for much the same reason, Misora."
By this point Misora no longer really cared who this Ryuzaki was—private detective or unprivate detective, she wanted nothing to do with him. The only problem was how much of her conversation he had heard from under the bed... which in a worst-case scenario could affect her future career. If any information about the mysterious L was made public because of her, she would have to do a great deal more than simply resign. She had casually broached the subject, and he had claimed that the bed muffled the sound of her voice and he had not been able to make out what she was saying, but this was not something she could afford to believe,
"Yes... I'm also a detective," Misora said, feeling like she had no other choice. If she had not been on a leave of absence, she would have claimed to be an FBI agent, but since she was, she did not want to risk him asking to see her badge. It seemed safer to lie—after all, there was a distinct possibility he was lying too. She did not need to feel at all guilty.
"I can't tell you who I'm working for, but I've been asked to investigate in secret. To find out who killed Believe Bridesmaid, Quarter Queen, and Backyard Bottomslash..."
"Have you? Then we can cooperate!" he said instantly.
Nerve on this level became oddly refreshing.
"So, Ryuzaki. Did you find anything under the bed that might prove useful in solving this case? I assume you were looking for anything the killer might have left behind, but..."
"No, nothing of the sort. I heard someone come into the house, so I decided to hide and monitor the situation. After a while it became clear that you were not a dangerous character, so I emerged."
"A dangerous character?"
"Yes. For example, the killer himself, coming back to get something he forgot. If that were the case, then what a chance! But apparently my hopes were in vain." Liar.
She could smell that lie coming.
Misora was now almost completely convinced that he'd been hiding down there to listen to her conversation with L. In any other situation, this would simply be paranoia, but this Ryuzaki character was no ordinary man.
There was nothing about him that wasn't suspicious.
"However, instead I have been lucky enough to meet you, so it was not a total write off. This is not a novel or a comic book, so there is no reason for fellow detectives to despise each other. What do you say, Misora? Will you agree to an exchange of information?"
"No. Thank you for the offer, but I must refuse. I have a duty to keep things secret," Misora replied. L
had given her everything about the case anyone could have obtained—it did not seem likely she would be able to get any information from an inexperienced private detective. And of course, she had no intention of giving him anything. "I'm sure you have your secrets too."
"I don't."
"Of course you do. You're a detective."
"Oh? Then I do."
Flexible.
Either way seemed to be fine with him.
"But it seems to me that solving this case must take precedence... Very well, Misora. How about this: I will provide you with all the information I have in return for nothing."
"Eh...? Uh, I couldn't possibly..."
"Please. Ultimately, it does not matter if I solve the case or if you do. My client's wishes are to see the case solved, and only to see it solved. If you possess a sharper mind than my own, then telling you everything will be more effective."
All that sounded nice, but he could hardly be thinking that for real, so Misora's wariness of Ryuzaki grew even more pronounced. What was he after? A few minutes ago he had improvised a lie, claiming he thought she might be the killer returning to the scene of the crime, but that theory seemed to fit the man hiding under the bed far better than it did her.
"You may decide if you wish to give any of your information to me afterward. So, first, there's this," Ryuzaki said, pulling a folded piece of paper out of his jeans pocket. He held it out to her, without bothering to unfold it first. Misora took it, and unfolded it dubiously. . it was a crossword puzzle. A grid, and clues in a tiny font. Misora had a hunch what this was.
"This is…"
"Oh? You knew about it?"
"No... not directly." she stammered, unsure how to react. It seemed obvious that this was the same crossword that had been sent to the LAPD on July 22nd, but L had said the original puzzle had been thrown away, so was this a copy? How had this man... how had Ryuzaki been walking around with it jammed into his pocket? While she thought furiously, Ryuzaki stared at her appraisingly. As if he were evaluating her abilities based on her reaction...
"Allow me to explain. Last month, on the twenty-second of July, this crossword was sent to the LAPD
by an unknown sender. Apparently, nobody could solve it, but if you were to solve this puzzle, it would give you the address of this house. Presumably it was a sort of warning from the killer to the police and to society in general. A declaration of war, one might say."
"I see. Still..."
Despite what L had said, part of her had still been dismissing the thing as just a crossword puzzle, but now that she could read the clues for herself, it did look extremely hard. The clues looked so frustrating that most people would give up before even trying to crack any of them. But the man across from her had solved it all by himself?
"You're sure the answer shows this address?"
"Yes. Feel free to keep it and solve it at your leisure if you doubt me. Either way, killers that send warnings are generally looking for attention, assuming they do not have some larger purpose. And the Wara Ningyo and locked room aspects of the case fit that profile. So it seems there is a very good chance of some other message... or something like a message, being left at the scene. Do you agree, Misora?"
Same conclusions as L.
Who was this man?
If he'd simply stated the same deductions as L, she could have dismissed them as extrapolated from the conversation he'd heard hiding under the bed, but for him to actually have a copy of the puzzle, a puzzle that only someone like L should have been able to acquire... The question of Ryuzaki's identity had become of critical importance to her once again.
"Excuse me," Ryuzaki said, putting both feet on the ground and heading, still stooped, for the kitchen
—as if slipping out of the room to give Misora time to calm down. He opened the refrigerator with a practiced motion, as if this were his own house, stuck his arm inside, and took out a jar—and then shuffled back to the sofa, leaving the refrigerator door open. It appeared to be a jar of strawberry jam.
"What's with the jam?"
"Oh, this is mine. I brought it with me and put it there to keep it cold. It's time for lunch."
"Lunch?"
It did make sense that there would be no food in the refrigerator of a man who had died two weeks before, but lunch? Misora liked am herself, but she didn't see any bread—and no sooner had the thought crossed her mind when Ryuzaki opened the lid, stuck his hand inside, scooped out some jam, and began licking it off his fingers.
Naomi Misora gaped at him.
Words failed her.
"Mmm? Something the matter, Misora?"
"Y-you have strange eating habits."
"Do I? I don't think so."
Ryuzaki scooped another handful of jam into his mouth.
"When I start thinking, I get a craving for sweets. If I want to work well, jam is essential. Sugar is good for the brain."
"Hunh…"
Misora was of the opinion that his brain needed specialized medical attention more than sugar, but at that moment, she did not have the nerve to say so. His body language reminded her of Pooh Bear, but Ryuzaki was neither yellow nor adorable, and less a bear inclined to doing nothing than a rather tall man with a pronounced slouch. When he had eaten four handfuls of jam, he proceeded to put his lips directly on the rim of the jar like it was a cup of tea and slurp the contents noisily. Within moments he had consumed the entire jar.
"Sorry for the delay."
"Oh... not at all."
"I have more jam in the refrigerator if you'd like some?"
"N-no thanks..."
That meal was like torture. She would turn it down if she were starving to death. Every fiber of her body rejected Ryuzaki. Completely. Misora had never had much confidence in her ability to fake a smile, but the one she was aiming at him now was extremely convincing, People can smile even when terrified.
"Okay," Ryuzaki said, licking jam off his fingers, giving no sign how he took her reaction. "So, Misora, let's go."
"Go? Go where?" Misora asked, desperately trying to figure out a way to refuse on the off chance that he should attempt to shake her hand.
"Obviously," Ryuzaki said. "To continue our investigation of the scene, Misora." At this moment, Misora should still have been capable of (arbitrarily) choosing her path in what was to come. She could have physically thrown Ryuzaki out of Believe Bridesmaid's house, and we could even say that doing so would have been the most sensible reaction to his presence, but despite being very, very tempted to take the sensible approach, Misora made up her mind to let him stay. More than anything, the possibility that he had overheard her conversation with L rated Ryuzaki as a hazard, and even without that he was suspicious, sinister, and had a copy of the crossword puzzle, which clinched the deal. She needed to keep him under observation until she had a better idea who he was. Certainly, anyone who knew more about the situation, anyone like me, can tell that this was exactly what Ryuzaki was hoping for, exactly what he was trying to achieve, but it would be too much to ask to expect Naomi Misora to have realized this so soon. After all, several years after the Los Angeles BB Murder Cases, when she was killed by Kira, Misora remained convinced that she had never met L in person, that she had only obeyed his voice-augmented commands through her computer screen. Depending on how you look at it, this might have been a good thing for the world even the murderer Kira, had he known lust how deep Misora's connection with L was, would never have killed her so quickly. L's life was only extended by a few extra years, but even that may well be thanks to Misora… nah, not even worth speculating about.
Back to the point.
Anyone who has read Sherlock Holmes will remember the vivid descriptions of the great detective bounding around the room, peering closely at everything through a magnifying glass. An iconic image that is so firmly associated with the old detective novels that one never sees a detective behave like that anymore. For that matter, the term detective novel is almost never used—they get called mystery novels, or thrillers. Nobody wants a detective who actually deduces anything—much more exciting if they just blurt out the truth. The process of deduction requires such a lot of work and no real genius ever needs to work. Same goes for boys' comics in Japan, popular all over the world. The most popular books all have heroes with exceptional powers.
So when they entered the bedroom and Ryuzaki abruptly went down on all fours, just like he had been when he emerged from under the bed, and began crawling all over the room (albeit without .1
magnifying glass) Misora was genuinely surprised. Being under the bed had not been the only reason for this posture, apparently. He seemed so accustomed to spending time on all fours that he looked ready to climb up the wall and across the ceiling.
"What are you waiting for, Misora? Join me!"
Misora shook her head so quickly it blurred.
It was beneath her pride as a woman. No, as a human being— joining him would forever part her from something extremely important.
"Oh? What a shame," Ryuzaki said, apparently never having possessed that critical something in the first place. He shook his head sadly and continued searching the room.
"B-but Ryuzaki. . .1 don't think there's anything left here to find. I mean, the police already searched it pretty thoroughly..."
"But the police overlooked the crossword puzzle. It would not surprise me at all if they overlooked something else in here."
"If you put it that way... but there's just so little to work with. I wish I had a clue to what I was supposed to be looking for—the room's too empty to just rifle through it at random. And the house is too big."
"A clue...?" Ryuzaki said, pausing mid-crawl. Then he slowly bit his thumbnail so carefully that it looked thoughtful, but the move meant was so infantile that it made him look equally stupid. Misora could not decide which emerged victorious. "What do you think, Misora? When you came in, did you think of anything? Any idea that might help narrow it down?"
"Well... yeah, but..."
There had been one thing the cuts on the victim's chest. She wasn't at all sure she should tell Ryuzaki about those. But it was also true that she was getting nowhere otherwise... either with the case, or with Ryuzaki. Possibly she should test him, just as he had observed her reaction when he handed her the crossword puzzle. If she played her cards right, she might figure out if he'd heard her phone call from under the bed.
"Right… Ryuzaki, As thanks for earlier, rather than a complete exchange of information... have a look at this photograph."
"Photograph?" Ryuzaki said, with a reaction so exaggerated one would think he had never before heard the word. He came over toward her... still on all fours, and without bothering to turn around.
He essentially reversed toward her, a spectacle that would surely have made a small child cry.
"A picture of the victim Misora said, handing him the autopsy photograph.
Ryuzaki took it, nodding gravely—or making a show of nodding gravely. So much for her test from his outward reaction, she could read absolutely nothing.
"Well done, Misora!"
"Yes?"
"The news did not mention that the body was cut up like this, which means this photograph is from the police files. I'm impressed hit you were able to get your hands on it. You're obviously no ordinary detective."
"...So how did you get hold of the crossword puzzle, Ryuzaki?"
"That would be my duty to keep secrets."
Her follow up was knocked aside just as easily. She belatedly wished she had allowed him to deny that he had secrets, that she had never taught him the concept in the first place.
She was also pretty sure it didn't make sense grammatically.
"I will not ask how you obtained this photograph, either, Misora. But how does this relate to your idea?"
"Yes, well...I wondered if the message might be on something that isn't in the room anymore, but was in the room at the time. And the most obvious thing that should be here, but isn't..."
"Is the room's occupant, Believe Bridesmaid. Clever."
"And if you look at that picture from the right angle... do the wounds look like letters to you? I wondered if it might be some sort of message..."
"Oh?" Ryuzaki said, holding the picture perfectly still while moving his head around jerkily. Were there no solid bones in his neck? He moved like a contortionist. Misora fought the urge to look away. "No, not letters..."
"No? I thought it was reading too much into it…"
"No, no, Misora, I am not denying the entire idea, just a portion of it. These are not letters, but Roman numerals."
Oh.
Right, Roman numerals, the same ones that she saw on clocks and whatnot every day—V and 1, obviously, and C, M, D, X, and L. . .she should have figured it out when she saw three I's next to each other—it wasn't three I's, but III. But there had been an L right after them, and she had connected that with the detective's name and
distracted herself.
"I is one, II is two, III is three, IV is four, V is five, VI is six, VII is seven, VIII is eight, IX is nine, X is ten, L is fifty, C is one hundred, D is five hundred, M is one thousand. So these wounds can be read as 16, 59, 1423, 159, 13, 7, 582, 724, 1001, 40, 51, and 31," Ryuzaki said, reading the complicated numbers without a second's pause. Was he good with Roman numerals, or was his mind really working that quickly?
"It's just a photograph, so I might not be reading them correctly, but there's an eighty percent chance I'm right."
"Percent?"
"However, I'm afraid that doesn't change the situation. Unless we can figure out what those numbers are supposed to mean, it would be dangerous to assume they are a message from the killer. Perhaps they are simply misdirection."
Excuse me, Ryuzaki," Misora said, taking a step backward. "For what?"
"I need to fix my makeup."
Without waiting for a response, Misora left the bedroom and climbed the stairs, heading for the second (not the first) story toilet. She locked the door from the inside and took out her cell phone. She hesitated for a moment, then called L. On the number five line. There was a brief beeping as it cleared a few scramblers, and then it finally connected.
"What is it, Naomi Misora?"
The synthetic voice.
Lowering her voice and hiding her mouth behind her hand, Misora said, "Something I need to report."
"Progress in the case? Very fast work."
"No... well, a little. I may have stumbled across a message from the killer."
"Wonderful."
"But it wasn't me that figured it out. How can I put this... a kind of mysterious private detective..." A mysterious private detective.
The expression nearly made her laugh.
"…just showed up."
"I see," the synthetic voice said, and fell silent.
It was an uncomfortable silence for Misora after all, she had made the decision to show Ryuzaki the picture and attempt to test him. When L said nothing, Misora proceeded to explain what Ryuzaki had said about the autopsy photograph. And that he had a copy of the crossword puzzle. This piece of information at last produced a reaction from L, but since it was a synthetic voice, she couldn't read the emotion behind it.
"What should I do? Frankly, I think it's dangerous to take my eyes of him."
"Was he cool?"
"Hunh?"
L's question came completely out of left field, and he was forced to ask it a second time before Misora answered, still unable to work with what he was driving at.
"No, absolutely not," she said, honestly. "Creepy and pathetic, and so suspicious that if I weren't on leave, I'd move to arrest him the moment I laid eyes on him. If we divided everyone in the world into those that would be better off dead and those that wouldn't, there's no doubt in my mind that he'd be the former. Such a complete freak that it amazes me he hasn't killed himself"
"…"
There was no answer.
What was this about?
"Naomi Misora, your instructions."
"Yes?"
"I imagine you are thinking much the same thing as I am, but let this private detective do what he likes for the moment. Partly because it is dangerous to let him out of your sight, but more importantly because it is important to observe his actions. I believe the credit for the autopsy photograph deductions belongs to you more than it does him, but he is clearly no ordinary person."
"I agree."
"Is he close by?"
"No, I'm alone. I'm calling from the bathroom, upstairs and to the back of the house, away from the bedroom."
"Go back to his side soon. I will follow up on him, and try to discover if a detective named Ryuzaki has actually been hired by Believe Bridesmaid's parents."
"Okay"
"You can use the same line the next time you call." And he hung up.
Misora snapped her phone shut.
She needed to go back soon, so he would not be suspicious, but she had left his side with rather unnatural timing, she thought, leaving the bathroom.
Ryuzaki was standing just outside the door. "Eek...!"
"Misora. You were up here?"
He was not on all fours, but even so, Misora gulped. How long had he been there?
"After you left the room, I discovered something interesting, and was unable to wait. So I came to get you. Are you quite finished?"
"Y-yes…"
"This way"
He trotted off, still hunched, toward the stairs. Still shaken, Misora followed him. Had he been listening through the door? This question tortured her. He discovered something interesting? That might just be a turn of phrase... she had kept her voice so low there was no way he could have heard her, but either way he had almost certainly been trying to. Which meant...
"Oh, Misora," Ryuzaki said, not turning around.
"Y-yes?"
"Why didn't I hear the toilet flush before you left the room?"
"It's rather rude to ask a girl something like that, Ryuzaki," Misora managed, wincing slightly at her mistake. Ryuzaki did not appear to be phased.
"Is it? Nevertheless... if you forgot to flush, it is not too late. You can still go back. The genders are equal when it comes to sanitary behavior."
What a horrific way of putting it.
In every meaning of the word.
"I was on the phone. Just a regular check-in with my client. But I did not want to you hear some of it."
"Oh? But either way, from now on, I recommend flushing. It provides good camouflage."
"I suppose it does."
They reached the bedroom. Ryuzaki went down on all fours as lie crossed the threshold. It looked less like an investigation method modeled on Sherlock Holmes than some sort of religious jinx.
"Over here." Ryuzaki scrabbled across the carpet toward the bookshelves.
Believe Bridesmaid's bookshelves, with their fifty-seven tightly packed books. It was the first place Misora had checked after talking with L.
"You said you found something new?"
"Yes. Something new—no, let us be bold. I have uncovered an important fact." His attempt at sounding cool annoyed her. She ignored it.
"So you found a clue of some kind on the bookshelf, you mean?"
"Look here," Ryuzaki said, pointing to the right side of the shelf second from the bottom. There was an eleven-volume set of a popular Japanese comic book named Akaukin Chacha.
"What about it?"
"I love this manga."
"You do?"
"I do."
How was she supposed to respond? In direct contrast to her wishes, she felt her expression softening, but with no attempt to probe her inner struggle, Ryuzaki continued.
"You're Nikkei, aren't you?"
"Nikkei...? My parents are both from Japan. My passport's American now, but I lived in Japan until after high school..."
"So you must know this manga. Min Ayahana-sensei's legendary creation. I read every issue as it was serialized. Shiine is so adorable! I liked the anime just as much as the manga. Love and courage and hope—Holy Up!"
"Ryuzaki, are you going to go on like this for a while? If so, I can wait in the other room..."
"Why would you do that when I'm talking to you?"
"Er, um… I mean, I liked Akazukin Chacha too. I watched the anime. I also experienced the love, courage, hope and Holy Up."
She longed to inform him exactly how little interest she had in his hobbies, but it was doubtful whether this private detective would be able to understand opinions directed at him from anywhere near common sense. As questionable as Ryuzaki himself.
Or was that overstating things?
"Good. We shall discuss the pleasures offered by the anime in detail on some other occasion, but for the moment, look here."
"Hunh…" Misora said, obediently looking at the volumes of Akazukin Chacha on the shelf Notice anything
"Not really..."
It was just a bunch of comics. At most they could tell that Believe Bridesmaid was fluent in Japanese, and liked manga... but there were lots of people like that in America. Reading the original Japanese instead of a translated version was not terribly unusual, either. With the advent of Internet shopping, it had become extremely easy to obtain them.
Ryuzaki's dark-rimmed eyes were staring fixedly at her. Uncomfortable, Misora avoided his gaze, checking each volume individually. But even after she'd finished checking them out, she'd found no curious facts or anything like a clue.
"I don't see anything... something about one of these comics?"
"No."
"Hunh?" There was more than a hint of anger in her voice. She did not like being made fun of.
"No? What do you mean?"
"Not one of these," Ryuzaki said. "Something that should be here, but isn't. Misora, you're the one who figured this out—any messages from the killer are indicated by the absence of what should be here. You're the one who figured out that this must refer to the body of Believe Bridesmaid. I didn't think I would need to explain this to you—look closely, Misora. They aren't all here. Volumes four and nine are missing."
"Eh?"
"Akazukin Chacha ran for thirteen volumes. Not eleven."
Misora looked down at the books again, and the numbers went from one, two, and three to five, six, seven, and eight to ten. If Ryuzaki was right, and there were thirteen volumes in all, then two volumes were missing—volumes four and nine.
"Hmm... right. But... Ryuzaki, so what? You mean the killer took those two volumes with him? It's certainly a possibility, but it seems equally likely they were missing in the first place. Maybe he planned to pick them up soon. Not everyone reads manga in order, you know. I mean, he seems to have stopped halfway through the Dickwood series, up here..."
"Impossible," Ryuzaki said, firmly "No one on earth would ever skip two volumes in the middle of Akazukin Chacha. I am absolutely sure this fact would pass muster in court." Had this man ever been in a court?
"Or at least, if the members of the jury knew much about Japanese comics."
"What a biased jury."
"The killer has obviously taken them with him," Ryuzaki said, blatantly ignoring her.
Misora wasn't about to let this pass. Her feet were firmly planted on more realistic ground.
"But you have no proof of that at all, Ryuzaki. It's equally possible he just loaned them to a friend."
"Akazukin Chacha?! You wouldn't even loan it to your parents! You'd tell them to buy their own! The only possible explanation is that the killer took them away!" Ryuzaki insisted, quite forcefully He didn't stop there.
"Furthermore, no one on earth would ever want to read only volumes four and nine—I'd bet my jam on it!"
"If you're referring to the jam you were eating earlier, a jar of that only goes for around five bucks." Min Ayahana-sensei would be disappointed.
"So it follows, Misora, that when the killer removed those two volumes from the room he had some other, completely unrelated reason for doing so."
Since it is true that those two volumes are missing, ignoring logic and possibility for the moment and following along with this hypothetical… it's still strange, isn't it? I mean, Ryuzaki, this bookshelf…" Was packed full. So tightly that removing a book from it had been rather difficult. If he had really removed two volumes of manga, then there should be that much of a gap... or wait...
"Ryuzaki. Do you know how many pages there are in volumes four and nine of Akazukin Chacha?"
"I do. 192 pages and 184 pages."
She had not actually expected him to know the answer.. .but 192 plus 184 was 376 pages. Misora glanced along the shelf, looking over the fifty-seven books for a volume the same thickness as 376
pages of manga. It did not take long. There was only one book that thick on this shelf—Insufficient Relaxation by Permit Winter.
When she took it off the shelf it did, indeed, turn out to be exactly 376 pages.
Hopefully Misora flipped through the pages, but she didn't see anything particularly interesting.
"What is it, Misora?" "Oh... I was wondering if the killer had put a hook on the shelf to replace the two he took off and if that hook was the real message.
Assuming that it had really been Believe Bridesmaid who had carefully arranged his books to fill the shelf exactly. It might have been a much more haphazard affair, and the killer had arbitrarily filled it with books taken from another room—and by extension of that line of thought, there was no telling if Akazukin Chacha actually belonged to Believe Bridesmaid in the first place. With the lack of bookmarks, it might all be part of the killer's message—but so what if it was? If that was the case, it just made it all the more convincing that there was some sort of message here. But if there was nothing unusual about the books themselves, then the whole theory fell apart. It was nothing more than idle fancy.
"Not a bad idea. No, rather a good idea—nothing else makes sense," Ryuzaki said, reaching out toward Misora.
For a moment she thought he wanted to shake her hand, and panicked, but then she realized he just wanted Insufficient Relaxation. She handed it to him. Ryuzaki plucked it from her grasp with his index finger and thumb, and began reading. Speed reading—he went through all 376 pages remarkably quickly.
It took him less than five minutes to read the entire book.
Misora was tempted to make him read Natsuhiko Kyogoku.
"I see!"
"Eh? You found something?"
"No. There's absolutely nothing here. Don't look at me like that. I swear, I'm not joking. This is just an ordinary entertainment novel, not a message, or even a metaphor like the Wara Ningyo. And of course, there are no letters of any kind hidden between the pages, nor anything scribbled in the margins."
"The margins?"
"Yes, there was nothing in the margins but page numbers."
"Page numbers?" Misora echoed. Page numbers... numbers? Numbers, like... Roman numerals?
"Ryuzaki, assuming those cuts on the victim's chest were Roman numerals, what did they say?"
"16, 59, 1423, 159, 13, 7, 582, 724, 1001, 40, 51, and 31." Good memory. Didn't even need to see the picture again. Nearly photographic memory—first the number of pages in the books, and now this.
"What about them?"
"I was just wondering if they were pointing at the pages in this hook, but... two of the numbers were four digits. The book's only 176 pages long. They don't match."
"Yes... no, Misora, what if it wraps around? For example, 476 could be seen as 376 plus one hundred, and indicate page 100."
"...Meaning what?"
"I don't know. But let's try it out...16 is easy, page 16. 59, 1423, 159, 13, 7, 582, 724, 1001, 40, 51, 31..."
He narrowed his dark-rimmed eyes.
Not even looking at the book. Seriously? Even at the speed he was reading, he'd managed to memorize the entire contents perfectly? Was that even possible? Could he really do that? Either way, Misora could only stand and wait.
"...l see."
"That there's nothing there?"
"No... there is something there. Something very specific, Misora." Ryuzaki handed Insufficient Relaxation back to Misora. "Open it to page 16," he said.
"Okay."
"What is the first word on that page?"
"Quadratic."
"Next is page 59. The first word on that page?"
"Ukulele."
"Next is page 295. 1423 wraps around three times, and hits 295 on the fourth lap. First word is?"
"Tenacious."
They continued. 159 was page 159, 13 was page 13, 7 was page 7, 582 was page 206, 725 was page 348, 1001 was page 249, 40 was page 40, 51 was page 51, and 31 was page 31, and on each page, Misora read out the first word. In order: "rabble,""table,""egg,""arbiter,"
"equable,""thud,""effect,""elsewhere," and "name."
"So."
"So... what about it?"
"Take the first letter of each word."
"The first letter? Um..."
Misora went back through each page again. She did not have a bad memory, but was unable to remember twenty words at one go. At least, not without being warned in advance that she would be required to do so.
"Q-U-T-R-T-E-A-E-T-E-E-N. . .qutr tea teen? What?"
"Very similar to the second victim's name, don't you think?"
"I suppose..."
The second victim. The thirteen-year old girl. Quarter Queen.
"There is a vague resemblance... Quarter Queen... only four letters are different."
"Yes. However Ryuzaki said, reluctantly. "Four letters out of twelve is too many. One third of them are wrong. If even one letter is different, then the entire theory falls apart. Unless it matches perfectly, it's not worth calling a message. I thought there might be something there, but it may well be just a coincidence..."
"But... for a coincidence..."
It was so obvious.
How could it be?
It had to be intentional.
Intentional... or abnormal.
"Still, Misora... if it doesn't match, it doesn't match. We were very close, but..."
"No, Ryuzaki. Think about it. All four wrong numbers match up with numbers over 376. They're all numbers where we had to wrap around."
She flipped through the pages, checking them again. Page 295, first word: tenacious, first letter: T, second letter E, third letter N, fourth letter.. A.
"Three times through, and on the fourth lap… we don't use the first letter, but the fourth letter. Not T, but A. And with 582, and arbiter, once around and on the second lap gives us R instead of A. That turns Qutrtea into Quarter."
By the same logic, "equable" was 724, so one time through, on the second lap, the second letter: Q.
And with 1001 and "thud"—not 1', but U. That made Eteen into Queen. Quarter Queen.
L had been right.
The killer had left a message.
The cuts on the body, the two missing books—the killer had left a message. Just like the crossword puzzle he'd sent to the police, a message describing his next victim...
"Nice work, Misora," Ryuzaki said, unruffled. "Very good deduction. I would never have thought of it."