The same toilet, the same corpse sitting on it—even the grief-stricken expression on the person rushing over was exactly the same. It was practically as if it had all been rehearsed beforehand.
Conan: "..." Wait, rehearsed?!
That word, which had flashed through his mind by chance, made him tense up instinctively—when it came to "rehearsal," one inevitably thought of plays and stages.
And if he remembered correctly, when that mysterious woman in black had handed him his passport, she had said something like, "Actors who flee the stage have no value." Could these two cases... be connected to That Lord she mentioned?!
The joy of touring the Sherlock Holmes Residence gradually faded. Conan rubbed his temple and began desperately recalling every detail from the plane, trying to find some clue.
Yet he found nothing.
Conan: "..." No matter how he looked at it, this was a perfectly ordinary case, no different from the ones they usually encountered. Even the trigger for the crime dated back four years, making it difficult to tamper with.
Besides, looking back further, these were not the only two cases. There had been plenty of similar scenes in other cases as well.
If he had to name a common point, the only thing these two cases shared was that both victims had died on toilet seats.
Conan: "..." The keyword couldn't possibly be "toilet seat," could it? The big shot behind that woman in black did not seem like someone with such terrible taste.
...Had he just been overthinking it?
Nearby, in the public restroom at the crime scene.
The abnormality of one child did not draw much attention from the police.
Inspector Yassa had received a new lead and was intently questioning the victim's companion. "You had arranged to go out together today?"
Shodo