THE KNIGHTS JUSTICE:
DIVINE PUNISHMENT PART 11
Conan's eyes flickered with a sharp realization as the fragmented clues coalesced in his mind. His gaze became predatory, scanning the confines of the room with renewed intensity. His attention drifted toward the wall where Mr. Manaka had met his gruesome end. Upon that surface, the victim's lifeblood was splattered like a chaotic, macabre mural of crimson and obsidian against the somber grey-black backdrop. The viscous fluid meandered downward, weeping onto the floor in dark, pooling stains.
He scrutinized the scene. Though numerous pedestals and placards remained, the wall itself was strangely barren.
Just as I suspected; the culprit removed the exhibits beforehand, Conan mused internally. The murderer anticipated the visceral spray of the assault and moved the paintings to shield them from the gore.
His eyes shifted back to the assembly of staff members lingering in the chamber.
Without a doubt, the perpetrator is among them! Conan's internal monologue sharpened as he dissected the group. Iijima was present; the woman from the entrance stood nearby; the architect who had been shadowing Mr. Manaka remained; Manager Ochiai was there as well, alongside the security detail. They all waited with a heavy, expectant patience.
Wait... this is a deception. Conan's thoughts hit a snag as he pondered the logistics of the frame-up. This ruse is unsustainable without dismantling Kubota-san's alibi. If his whereabouts aren't fully accounted for, the entire theory collapses. The only individual capable of orchestrating this is the one who commanded Kubota to perform a solitary task during the exact window of the murder...
His sharp, discerning eyes darted toward the only figure who fit the criteria. He glared at the person standing silently apart from the rest—the murderer who had butchered Mr. Manaka and meticulously ensnared Kubota. The silhouette of the knight's armor loomed in his mind as he watched his prime suspect staring at the massive, daunting canvas of The Divine Punishment.
It all leads back to one person. It could only be Manager Ochiai.
The pieces of the puzzle locked into place: the pen, the manipulated alibi, the timing, the relocated exhibits, the hollow armor, the CCTV footage, and the symbolism of the painting. Everything aligned with chilling precision.
If my deduction holds, there is a distinct possibility the killer still possesses the evidence...
Before he could initiate his next move, a low, gravelly whisper vibrated against his left ear. A single word, uttered with such profound weight that it sent an icy tremor down his spine.
"Se-kai..." Leon murmured.
Conan whipped his head around, finding himself mere inches from a dark veil. The proximity allowed him to glimpse the haunting, predatory curve of a smile—an unsettling expression reminiscent of a serpent observing its prey with cold amusement. Then, as quickly as it had manifested, the oppressive sensation vanished as Leon withdrew.
Conan's pulse refused to steady. His mind reeled, grappling with the sensation of being transparent, as if his very consciousness were an open volume. He had been conducting his entire investigation within the silent theater of his mind, yet it felt as though Leon had been reading every line.
He opened his mouth to confront Leon, but the booming voice of Inspector Megure cut through the tension.
"Well, Kubota-san, it appears you'll have to accompany us to the station for further questioning," Megure stated, stepping toward the man with his hands clasped firmly behind his back.
Kubota paled as the Inspector approached, flanked by two officers closing in from his periphery.
"T-THIS IS A MISTAKE! I didn't do anything! I'm innocent! I don't know anything about this!" Kubota shrieked, his voice cracking with desperation. He bucked against the iron grip of the officers as they seized his shoulders and arms, his eyes wide with a frantic plea for mercy. His shock had evolved into pure, unadulterated despair. When the officer on his right reached for the handcuffs, the metallic jingle sounded like a death knell to him.
Conan forced himself to look away from the chaos; he had to focus on the objective. He spotted Ran at the far end of the gallery, clutching the blue Medieval Art Exhibition pamphlet.
There! Conan thought, preparing to dash across the room to retrieve the booklet from her.
But a sudden tap on his shoulder halted him. He spun around to find another blue exhibition guide being offered to him. Leon held the book, using it to nudge Conan's shoulder.
"Here," Leon said simply, relinquishing his grip on the pamphlet. With a slight nod, Leon turned his back and paced slowly toward Ran and Sonoko.
Damn, this guy... can he actually perceive my thoughts? Kudo Shinichi muttered to himself, clutching the booklet as he watched Leon's retreating form.
He forced his concentration back to the immediate crisis.
Time to set the stage, Conan whispered to himself.
As the officers prepared to pin Kubota's wrists behind his back, the room was suddenly pierced by the high-pitched, frantic wail of a child.
"T-this is bad! This is really bad! The bathroom! Where is the bathroom?! I need a bathroom right now!"
Conan began racing in erratic circles, his voice carrying a shrill, convincing urgency. The spectacle drew every eye in the room; even the officers paused their arrest, staring in bewilderment at the boy. Seizing the distraction, Conan bolted directly toward Manager Ochiai, who watched the child's approach with a guarded expression.
"Mister, where is the restroom?!" Conan pleaded, jumping in place to emphasize his dire desperation.
"The restroom?" Ochiai repeated, raising a steady hand to gesture toward the exit. "Go out this room, descend the stairs on your right, and then—" The Manager began to elaborate with vivid, measured directions, but Conan cut him off with a sharp whine.
"That's too complicated to understand!" Conan barked, his feet drumming a frantic rhythm against the floor. He abruptly halted his movement and thrust the blue exhibition booklet toward Ochiai. "Mister, can you just draw the map on this?"
Caught in the whirlwind of the child's impatience and the perceived urgency of the situation, Ochiai instinctively fell into the rhythm of Conan's performance. To the Manager, this was simply an overwhelmed child in need of a toilet, too panicked to follow verbal instructions.
Ochiai accepted the booklet with his left hand. With his right, he reached for the pen clipped to the breast pocket of his crisp white shirt.
AM N. NOT.(っ－＿－)っ♤♤DRAFT♤♤