"Fax Machine?"
Inspector Yassa thought for quite a while before recalling that machine, which had barely registered at the crime scene—in his memory, Nanjo Hayato had died by the wall, lying on his back with his head wedged into the corner between a Cabinet and the wall.
And there did indeed seem to have been a Fax Machine on top of that Cabinet. Jiang Xia and the agent had even briefly discussed it at the time.
Inspector Yassa was both annoyed that he had failed to spot the problem sooner and vaguely uneasy. He gave Jiang Xia a dark look. "Didn't you say Detectives from your side don't like messing with Crime Scenes? Then how could this little kid have seen a particular sheet among that stack of papers?"
Jiang Xia did not look guilty in the slightest. "I said our High School Detectives don't like damaging Crime Scenes, but he's only a first-year elementary school student." Then, with a faint note of reproach, he added, "Don't change the subject."
"..."
Conan once again experienced the convenience of being a child. He rubbed the back of his head and gave Inspector Yassa, who was glaring at them viciously, an innocent smile that could probably make him go even balder.
In any case, no matter how determined Inspector Yassa was to uphold the prestige of the London police, after dealing with three cases in one day, he could not help feeling thoroughly exhausted. At some point, his enthusiasm for confronting foreign Detectives had burned away completely.
All he wanted now was to wrap up work as soon as possible, go home for a nice hot shower, then put on his beloved nightcap and peacefully catch up on sleep—not only these Detectives had been sleep-deprived. Inspector Yassa had even worked overtime