“I feel sooo much better now!”
Figured…
The lobby was jam-packed with patrons who had since been allowed to leave their seats. Some people were calling their family, some were fervently discussing the incident among themselves, others still were idly thinking back about what just happened. On top of that, the city police and the theater staff were busily running in and out of the room, dealing with the aftermath. Some people were angry, some were sad, and some were bewildered. Among the crowd, Fukuzawa thought, Thank goodness.
His mind was at ease. Nobody died, and Ranpo solved the case. The rest was trivial. There was a group of three women in the lobby crying. They must have been Murakami’s fans. While passing by, Fukuzawa overheard them saying, “I’m just glad he’s alive!” Fukuzawa basically felt no different.
Looking back, no one could have asked for a more logical approach from Ranpo’s peculiar stage detective work. Even if he just unveiled the truth and the criminal, the criminal would have run away, and the audience would have been traumatized after witnessing a murder. It would have ended only with some light shed on the circumstantial evidence, thus leaving a deep scar on those who worked with Murakami. Just uncovering the truth wasn’t enough. Dragging Murakami out in front of everyone and having him confess was an absolute requirement. But to do that, Ranpo needed Murakami, a born actor, to believe there was no use in hiding any longer. Nothing could have been better than using the audience to draw him out. Ranpo’s entire monologue was for that moment.
“Revealing the truth onstage was a brilliant idea,” complimented Fukuzawa.
“Right?” Ranpo proudly smirked. “I’d always wanted to scream out whatever I wanted, just once. Did you see the blank looks on their faces? Seems like everyone knows just how amazing I am now! Whew. As a master detective, nothing beats unraveling a mystery in front of a large group of people! Just a universal truth.”
Something wasn’t sitting well with Fukuzawa.
“Wait. You unveiled the mystery onstage because—”
“I wanted the attention,” answered Ranpo with a straight face. It was as if he wanted to say, “Of course. Why else would I have done that?”
“…………………………………………………………Oh, okay.”
“Anyway, these glasses are amazing! The moment I put them on, my mind gets sharper, and all deductions reveal themselves to me! Those Kyoto elites sure have some amazing treasures! I feel so alive. I finally understand who I am! With these glasses and my skill, nobody can beat me!”
Ranpo was gleefully scrutinizing the black-framed spectacles. Of course, it was all in his head. There was nothing special about them. Everything Ranpo did, he did himself. He figured out what really happened just from the little information he got in Murakami’s dressing room. It was an extraordinary achievement born from the hastily made fib that his ability was the reason why he knew the truth.
Fukuzawa suddenly remembered a question he had that still had no answer.
“I saw something vaguely square-shaped and metallic behind the lights, close to the ceiling. What was that?”
“Oh, that? Here.”
Ranpo picked up something he had leaning against the wall.
“…Aluminum foil?”
“Yep. Just an ordinary square board. It’s a piece of reflector used for photography. Although it was used to temporarily mess with the investigation this time. I found it just lying on the ground in the shadow of a large prop on the stage wing.”
Fukuzawa groaned. It was light, so it could be easily pulled down with some string and taken home. The main reason Fukuzawa had thought there was an external device that had killed Murakami was because he’d seen the reflection. While it was only supposed to be a temporary decoy, it was created with very fine detail and thought.
“One more thing. How did you convince Ms. Egawa to help?”
Her transformation was significant enough to puzzle even Fukuzawa. She’d handled the lights with a smile and given the thumbs-up. How was Ranpo able to get on her good side like that?
“I didn’t really have to convince her to do anything. The moment I saw her, I knew she wanted to do stage production—lights, sound, that sort of thing. So I just told her I thought she seemed like she’d be good at it and asked if she could help. That’s all. She said she finally made up her mind and was going to start following her dream starting tomorrow.”
No wonder she was in such a good mood. Having one’s talents complimented by someone as gifted as Ranpo would probably change anyone.
“Good work, you two!” A city police officer briskly approached them and bowed. “That was beautiful; got me right here! When Watchdog here was checking the scene of the crime, I knew he was going to be able to solve this complicated case…but wow! I had no idea he was armed with a secret weapon! Mighty fine work, Detective!”
It was the young uniformed officer whom Fukuzawa was talking to earlier. Ranpo’s smug grin widened every time he was called Detective by the officer, while Fukuzawa’s expression was best described as dubious.
“Leave the rest to us. There’s still some paperwork that needs to get done, and we’ll need you to come to the station to outline the events for us, but—”
“An outline of the events?” asked Ranpo.
“Yep. Just a basic rundown of what you saw and heard that led you to solving the case.”
“Huh…? I mean, that’s fine, but my written statement’s just gonna say ‘Because I’m a skill user.’”