“It’s not a big deal. All the documents are still here, after all.”
The air in the room instantly grew tense.
“…What?” The secretary looked back at the boy.
“None of the documents were stolen. The president wasn’t even killed by a hit man. I mean, you know that. After all, you’re the one who killed her, Mr. Secretary.”
“…What?”
The secretary tilted his head to the side, mouth agape.
“…What?”
The secretary tilted his head to the side, mouth agape.
“…What?”
The secretary tilted his head to the side, mouth agape. His head was almost completely perpendicular to the floor.
“Why did you just say the same thing three times in a row? I swear, adults make absolutely no sense sometimes. It’s painfully obvious that the one behind this was the secretary and that he framed the hit man, but the old guy over there won’t even do anything. A neglect of duty is what that is. If my mother were here, she’d already have the criminal tied up and tossed out the window!”
Fukuzawa was unable to keep up with the kaleidoscopic changes and too bewildered to even change his expression. The president wasn’t killed by the assassin? The secretary standing in front of them was the real culprit?
“That’s ridicu—”
Fukuzawa was barely even able to begin the retort before stopping himself. There was something bothering him—a feeling deep inside him. The assassin’s weapon was a pistol. He was a seasoned hit man who could sense bloodlust even without being able to see. Would someone this skilled use his bare hands to push the president out the window and leave fingerprints on her clothes? And how would he have been caught by one of the guards?
“Get it now, old guy?” The boy smirked with satisfaction as if he could read Fukuzawa’s mind.
“Wh-why do you look so serious, Fukuzawa? Just get rid of the boy! I’ll raise your payment, so please don’t let him mess things up more than he already has. The fate of the company—”
“Kid, I understand why you doubt that the hit man over there is the culprit.” Fukuzawa had already regained his composure. His expression was like a waxed mirror without a single ripple or smudge. “But the victim’s clothes had the assassin’s fingerprints on them. All ten fingerprints are there in a position as if he pushed her. How would you explain that? You may be just a child, but I won’t allow you to call the secretary a murderer without sufficient evidence.”
“You’re joking, right? What is this? A test? Do I get points for every obvious detail I list in the end? Sigh. The city really is a mystery to me.”
“Let’s hear the evidence,” said Fukuzawa with a little force.
From his point of view, he was simply trying to express a little sincerity. However, the air in the room instantly grew tense, and it felt as if the temperature had dropped a few degrees. Any ordinary street thug would have cried and run off if they heard that voice.
“Oh… Yeah, okay.” The boy’s expression turned solemn, and he closed the window. “The first thing the secretary did was innocently tell the president to look outside in order to lure her to the front of the window. Once she let her guard down, he pushed her out.”
“Absurd…”
“This place is authorized personnel only, right?” continued the boy while ignoring the secretary seething with anger. “No matter how good of a hit man he might be, it would be impossible for him to reach the window without the president noticing. I mean, the desk has a clear view of the entrance. Plus, if the president fought back, the fingerprints wouldn’t be positioned as if he pushed her out the window but rather as if he threw her out. Otherwise, it would be unnatural. But there were ten fingerprints on her clothes, right? I heard you two talking while I waited outside the room. That means the president didn’t feel like she was in any danger until the moment she was pushed. In other words—”
“It was someone she knew.” Fukuzawa finished his sentence.
Just who was this boy? He was very observant. While he flouted every behavioral norm imaginable, he could process all the necessary information. But that alone…
“Your argument could be more convincing,” claimed Fukuzawa. “The president could’ve coincidentally been standing in front of the open window when the assassin sneaked in.”
“So she had it open on such a windy day?” The boy furrowed his brows. He had a point.
“Even then, that isn’t enough to prove it was someone she knew,” asserted Fukuzawa. “There’s something called common courtesy in the adult world. Mistakenly treating someone you just met as a criminal has consequences, even if you are joking.”
“Yeah, I get it! I get it! Enough.” The boy puffed out his cheeks. “Come on, who cares about manners? I’m telling the truth, and that’s all that should matter. Anyway, as I was saying… The reason why the hit man’s fingerprints are on her clothes is because the secretary forged the evidence. My father once told me that fingerprints were easy to falsify. Mr. Secretary, you used to be a public prosecutor or something, weren’t you? After all, ‘hook ’em and book ’em’ is actually popular jargon among police, surprisingly enough.”
Now that he mentioned it, the secretary did say something about being scouted by the president at his last job.