"Fax Machine?"
Inspector Yassa thought for quite a while before recalling that machine, which had barely registered at the crime scene—Nanjo Hayato had died by the wall, lying on his back with his head wedged in the corner between a Cabinet and the wall.
And there did seem to have been a Fax Machine sitting atop that Cabinet. Jiang Xia and the manager had even briefly discussed it at the time.
Partly annoyed that he had failed to spot the issue sooner, Inspector Yassa also felt that something was off. He looked gloomily at Jiang Xia. "Didn't you say detectives where you came from didn't like messing with Crime Scenes? Then how could this little guy see 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. Rubbing the back of his head, he flashed an innocent smile that could make Inspector Yassa go even balder while facing the inspector's fierce glare.
In any case, no matter how determined Inspector Yassa was to demonstrate the might of the London police, after three cases in one day, he could not help feeling utterly exhausted. At some point, his enthusiasm for confronting foreign Detectives had burned out completely.
He only wanted to finish 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 deprived of rest. After the case on the early-morning flight, Inspector Yassa had even worked overtime handling the aftermath.