Chapter Sixteen: A Message of Death?

Everyone turned around to see a portly man with a full beard, wearing a ring on his finger and holding a thick cigar between his teeth. He wore a brazen smile as he swaggered through the art gallery, followed closely by an attendant.

He raised his left eyebrow provocatively and shouted loudly inside the hall, “This gallery is going to shut down in a few days anyway. Might as well take good care of this junk on its final journey! Ha ha ha ha ha!”

Without waiting for a response, he strode deeper into the exhibition hall with his secretary.

The curator sighed and explained to the group, “Our gallery owner’s company went bankrupt due to poor management. This guy, Masaka, took advantage of the situation and bought this art gallery... but he actually plans to turn it into a restaurant. It’s just... unbelievable.”

He shook his head and turned to leave.

Afterward, Moray and his group wandered around the gallery.

“Huh, that’s strange...” Ran Mouri noticed something amiss. “Wasn’t there a ‘No Entry’ sign posted at the entrance of the ‘Hell’s Gallery’ before?”

“Yeah, it’s gone now...” Conan also sensed something was off.

“Let’s go inside and have a look~” Ran, still full of energy, pulled Conan and Kogoro Mouri into the exhibition hall.

Suddenly, a piercing scream echoed. Moray rushed in to find the once arrogant owner Masaka impaled through the throat by a long sword, pinned to the wall—his posture identical to the demon in the oil painting “Divine Punishment” hanging opposite him!

The Tokyo police arrived swiftly as usual, and once again, the officer leading the investigation was Inspector Megure, whom Moray had met before.

“Not you again?” Inspector Megure looked at Kogoro Mouri, who was saluting cheerfully, and sighed, “Why is it that you’re involved in every murder case?”

However, Moray hadn’t been very active lately, so Megure hadn’t grown tired of his new junior partner. With a friendly greeting to Moray, Megure led the team into the crime scene.

Due to public concerns over privacy rights, there has long been resistance to installing surveillance cameras in Japan, which partly explains why Tokyo police investigations often fall short. But this time, much to Inspector Megure’s rare delight, the gallery’s anti-theft system included several surveillance cameras intact and hanging in the ceiling corners.

“Quick, check the footage!” he said with a broad smile, leading the group in a rush toward the surveillance room.

However, the images on the monitors sent chills down everyone’s spine.

The footage showed a suit of Western knight’s armor suddenly moving on its own, slashing through Masaka’s body with a sharp blade. The armored figure turned to face the camera for a few seconds, then grabbed Masaka’s chin, pressed him against the wall, and drove the sword through his throat, pinning him to the wall.

The assailant in the footage was fully clad in armor, with head completely covered, making it impossible to discern any physical features. The police in the surveillance room all sighed in unison.

“Scotland Yard,” Moray muttered under his breath.

Could they really not see such an obvious clue? When the killer glanced at the camera, Masaka had just discovered paper and pen on the table and was clearly writing something!

Moray was about to point this out when a child’s voice came from below: “Huh? That’s weird~”

Moray struggled to keep his composure.

Ah, the teenage detective. Ah, Holmes.

Holmes? The leader of the Baker Street team!

Conan scrambled up onto a chair, pressing buttons to rewind the surveillance footage.

“Kid, don’t move around... huh?” Kogoro Mouri looked at Moray, who had stopped him and was shaking his head, confused.

“Maybe Conan has spotted a clue,” Moray said seriously.

“Besides, I think the boy is pretty smart...”

He turned to Conan with a smile.

“Sometimes I think he’s a bit too clever...”

Cold sweat crept down Conan’s back as his heart sank. He hesitated with the rewind button.

No... a normal person wouldn’t suspect someone could go from a high schooler back to an elementary school student. Would they?

Swallowing nervously, Conan’s urge to solve the case prevailed. He paused the footage on the moment the killer looked at the camera, then turned to everyone with a sheepish grin, scratching his head innocently: “Look, didn’t Masaka write something here?”

Moray watched the little imposter’s act with a secret smile.

That smile wasn’t quite foolish enough. The proper performance requires the neck bent forward, the upper arm angled toward the sky, and scratching the back of the head—only then would it fit your current role.

Yet Conan was unaware of Moray’s silent critique. Instead, he calmed himself and prepared to guide everyone further into the investigation. He pressed play and watched as Masaka spotted the paper and pen, snatched them up, clenched his teeth, and wrote something hurriedly; then he threw down the pen, clenched the note in his palm, and was instantly killed by the sword through his throat.

“A death message!” Inspector Megure’s face lit up unexpectedly. Though the footage never revealed the killer’s face, the victim had left an important clue. Just as a smile appeared, Megure reminded himself of the crime scene’s urgency, cleared his throat, and ordered the team to rush back.

Moray followed at a leisurely pace, hands clasped behind his head.

A death message. But did the victim really write it?

Why did he throw down the pen? That action was unnecessary—he could have just finished writing and been done. Why the throw?

To hide the pen out of the killer’s sight, so the killer wouldn’t realize the victim still held a piece of paper... No, the killer, hidden inside the armor for so long, knew better than Masaka about the paper and pen on the table.

Moreover, why did the killer leave those few seconds to look at the camera, giving Masaka a chance to leave a message?

Moray finally returned to the crime scene, where the note in the victim’s hand had been found. It bore two large characters: “Kawada.”

Kawada’s face suddenly turned pale, cold sweat forming on his forehead.

“Well then, Mr. Kawada, do you have anything to say?” Inspector Megure’s expression darkened. “Where were you between 4:30 and 5:00 p.m., the time when the victim died?”

“I... I was in the office handling some matters at the curator’s request...” Kawada stammered.

Megure’s gaze shifted to the curator, who nodded.

“Is there anyone who can confirm you stayed in the office that entire time?” Megure’s hand already rested on his handcuffs.

Seeing Kawada falter and unable to give a solid alibi, only repeating that he did not commit the murder, Megure ordered Takagi to keep a close watch on him.