Vodka, who had been taken hostage, was drenched in cold sweat. Behind him, the fake police officer was no less panicked.
"Didn't you hear me?" The robber pressed hard against Vodka, the muzzle seemingly about to grind into the hostage's temple. Warily, he shouted at the curly-haired man with the terrifyingly accurate aim, "I told you to put down the gun!"
Vodka's head ached from the pressure. He was about to tell the man to calm down when the person on the bench in the hall suddenly sighed.
Vodka: "?"
Under his wary gaze, the curly-haired man said darkly, "If I could truly destroy you, then for the good of society, I would be willing to perish with you."
"—Mr. Yamada, I recall you said you were a fan of Jiang Xia, and of Sherlock Holmes too. Then you must believe in this famous quote as well, right?"
Vodka immediately became alert: "..." Of course not! What kind of ominous nonsense was that? I didn't know, and I didn't want to know... Wait, what the hell were you trying to do?!
Conan understood at once: Th-this was something Sherlock Holmes had said to Moriarty, wasn't it? But in this situation...
His heart skipped a beat, and he hurried forward to stop him. "Wait—"
Bang—!
Another unexpected gunshot rang out. Pulling the trigger, something Sekiguchi Yoshio had agonized over for an entire afternoon, came as easily and casually to the curly-haired man as breathing or drinking water.
Conan stared in shock toward where the gun was pointing. At the end of his gaze, blood sprayed from Vodka's chest.
Blood splattered all over the fake police officer's head and face. He blankly wiped the blood from his face, completely stunned—he admitted that, without knowing anything about the curly-haired man's background, taking Mr.