Chapter 48: Can I Say I Don't Like It?

In the lobby, Takeshita had already been handcuffed and was being led toward a police car. Upon hearing the news of Nakajima's brutal death, he froze in place.

"Heh... Heh heh... Kuhahaha... Hahahaha, Nakajima,ahahahahaha—"

He burst into uninhibited laughter, tears gushing from the corners of his eyes like a breached dam. "You dumped her! You drove Remi to suicide! How does it feel now? How does it feel?!"

He was dragged and shoved into the police car by the officers, yet his laughter refused to stop.

Moray frowned, lowering his head in deep thought. He simply could not comprehend these recent murder cases.

What were these Japanese people thinking? Unwilling to sever their existing social ties, yet desiring a flawless revenge—where on earth was such a good deal in this world?

Whether it was this Takeshita or the previous chubby man in bandages, if the two of them had just found an isolated place to commit the murder and hide the body, and immediately fled afterward, they might have actually had a chance of escaping. But no, they insisted on committing crimes in plain sight, and even expected to clear their names right before everyone's eyes using some trick...

He just didn't get it.

That monk, Shunen, had seen things very clearly. Escape if you can, and if you're caught but don't want to hurt the innocent, just turn yourself in—clean and decisive. Come to think of it, he really was quite a talent. His physical skills were impressive, he valued old bonds, and he still carried on a traditional lineage...

Conan walked into the lobby and, seeing Moray frowning, felt a sudden, strange calmness settle over his heart.

The clue to the organization was gone, and no amount of regret would change that.

But Moray—it was he who had just asked the police to take Mr. Nakajima outside, only for Mr. Nakajima to be silenced by the organization. Although he didn't know the full reason behind the silencing, but...

Could he really be feeling this much guilt?

He walked up to Moray, tilted his head up, and said, "It's not Moray-neesan's fault, you know."

"Huh?" Moray looked down at Conan with a puzzled expression.

"Moray-neesan couldn't have known that Mr. Nakajima would be sniped out in the open, so it's not your fault at all." Conan forced himself to put on a big, bright smile.

*To protect the smiles of all kind-hearted people...* Conan secretly resolved in his heart.

*So, this brat didn't manage to find out anything about the organization?* Moray squatted down, patted Conan's head, and flashed a smile back at him.

"Yeah!"

...

"Good job, Cognac."

Inside the organization's bar.

Gin lit a cigarette. "Although the money wasn't recovered, you at least managed to bring back the data and silence the target."

Moray was transcribing the roster from memory, his pen moving steadily without a single erasure or correction. "And?"

"?" Gin looked at him, confused.

"And thanks to my extraordinary memory, I was able to bring the roster back right under everyone's noses!" Moray finished writing, tossed the pen aside, picked up his glass, took a deep gulp, and let out a long, satisfied sigh of relief.

Gin's forehead twitched with dark lines. Yet, he had to admit that the memory of the guy in front of him was entirely beyond human levels.

At first, he had harbored some doubts about the accuracy of Moray's memory, but after Moray pulled out an encyclopedia, let Gin flip to a random page, and then recited the entire contents word for word without a single error, Gin had no choice but to be convinced.

Only, Gin found praising people out loud to be...

Extremely...

Cheesy.

Seeing Gin staring blankly across the table, Moray couldn't be bothered to care. He lit a cigarette as well and asked offhandedly, "How is the aftermath going to be handled?"

"What aftermath?" Gin glanced sideways at him.

"The loose ends of committing murder in broad daylight."

"Who's going to investigate it? You?" Gin sneered. "Or are you expecting the Tokyo police?"

"Fine then. By the way, I don't have any assignments lately, right? I'm taking a leave of absence."

"Whatever. Just make sure to file a report." Gin signaled the bartender and ordered a gin and tonic. "What are you taking leave for?"

"Vacation~" Moray rested the back of his head on his hands. "There's a gathering organized by some Sherlock Holmes fan. Though I'm not particularly fond of the guy, some brat dragged me along..."

"Besides, organization members are allowed to have their own lives, you know. Look at Vodka over there, still reading a celebrity weekly. It's not like everyone is a workaholic like you."

Vodka hurriedly stashed the magazine away. Seeing that his big brother hadn't turned around, he stealthily spread it out on his lap under the table.

*This Cognac, really...* Vodka muttered a silent curse under his breath.

"Anyway, nothing else, so I'm heading out—" Moray extinguished his cigarette butt, threw on his trench coat, and left the bar.

Gin turned his head back to find Vodka completely engrossed in celebrity gossip again.

*Whatever, let him be...* Gin sighed, massaging his temples in resignation.

...

The next day, in the car on the way to the gathering destination.

Mouri Ran and Suzuki Sonoko had gone off somewhere else to play, leaving Kogoro Mouri to shoulder the duty of a guardian—taking care of Conan. Besides, he was also the hotel owner's specially invited guest.

Most of the people present were fellow enthusiasts, and after a brief round of self-introductions, they immediately plunged into passionate conversations.

"My absolute favorite is *A Study in Scarlet*, that piece is a classic!"

"If you ask me, it's *The Red-Headed League*!"

"The one I like is *The Sign of the Four*!" Conan raised his hand. At this moment, his excitement was genuine, making him look truly like an ordinary child.

"Little buddy, you're quite impressive, knowing so many words," said Kawazu Ikuo, a university physical education teacher, with a smile.

"What about Moray-neesan?" Conan turned his head to ask Moray.

*Should I tell them I don't like any of them?* Moray fell silent. *Who wants to read about that guy's detective work?*

And besides, there wasn't even any role for someone like him in the books written by that Conan Doyle!

"If you're asking me..." Moray said casually, "speaking purely in terms of which one left the deepest impression, it would have to be *The Final Problem*."

Because he had no impression of any of the others.

Shimizu Nanako, the librarian, nodded. "Although that story doesn't have many intricate deduction plots, it really showcases Holmes's superb disguise skills and intelligence."

Moray expressed neither agreement nor dissent.

"But why do you like that one? I'm a bit curious, since I personally prefer stories with a heavier focus on deduction."

"Let me clarify first, I just said it left an impression, not that I liked it," Moray sighed. "I experienced it step by step without knowing anything about how it would progress beforehand."

"When I reached *The Final Problem* and saw the direction of the ending—though judging by the number of subsequent stories, it probably wasn't the actual ending—my feelings were genuinely complicated."

If he had to do it over again, there was no way he would have let Holmes get away... Moray let out a soft click of his tongue.

"Then what about you, sir? Which one is your favorite?" Fujisawa Toshimaki, a publisher, asked with a smile, looking at Kogoro Mouri, who was staring blankly out the window.

"Huh? Me?" Kogoro panicked internally. "My favorite... Ahem, well, you know, *Murder on the Western Express*?"

"Don't you mean *Murder on the Orient Express*?" Fujisawa Toshimaki frowned.

"And isn't that not even a work by Conan Doyle?" Shimizu Nanako gave him a sideways glance.

"I recall that's a work by Agatha Christie?" Kawazu Ikuo's expression turned grim.

Three pairs of unfriendly eyes fixed upon him.

"Good grief, why on earth did I have to come here..." Kogoro Mouri shot an irritated glare at Conan. He wanted to throw a punch, but Conan was sitting too far away, so he gave up and looked back out the window, trying hard to forget the awkwardness. "And I have to stay here for three whole days..."

In fact, the hotel owner was driving another car to pick someone up from Kansai, so the number of people present might double by the time everyone arrived.

Iwai Hitomi, the hotel clerk, drove the car up the mountain road, toward the hotel perched right in front of the cliff ahead.