"The homeowner's name is Original Kohei, 28 years old, occupation..."
Juzo Megure glanced sideways at the Do Not Disturb sign hanging by the door and curled his lip.
Right outside the room where he had been attacked hung a sign that read, "Writing in Progress. Do Not Enter."
...Every unemployed young person in their twenties really did seem to enjoy calling themselves a writer.
"...Freelancer," he finally summarized.
"A freelancer..." Conan, who had been examining the items on the shelves, straightened up and repeated the word, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
These finely crafted figures and assorted display collectibles were obviously expensive even without looking up their prices.
They were not things an unemployed twenty-something could afford.
Even if he really was a freelancer, he was probably the kind who made a great deal of money.
"At present, it appears the injury was caused by a heavy blow to the back of the head. The weapon was this broken vase." Juzo Megure gestured at the bloodstained shards on the floor.
"So it really wasn't my ball that hit him?" Genta looked up at the baseball on top of the shelf and asked uncertainly.
"Probably not." Wataru Takagi reassured him. "The fragments from the vase your baseball broke are still up there. As for this vase, the cleaner responsible for this house said it was usually placed at the other end of the shelf."
"But Conan said he was crouching here, looking through the drawer, when he was struck from behind." Genta scratched the back of his head, still unconvinced. "What if the baseball hit a vase and made another one roll down?"
"That's impossible." Mrs. Ichimura, her hair gathered in a bun, shook her head seriously. "That vase is very heavy. It wouldn't fall just because something hit it. Besides, it