A/N: (Dec 15/07) I am going back and editing/re-writing large chunks of the Photo chapters I've already posted to make sure everything lines up with the new plot that this is all going to follow. I'll warn you now that I'm a slow writer and that, for me, writing for Magic Kaito (and Detective Conan) takes a lot of energy and research to pull off. Chapter updates will be slow but I'll do my best.
Warnings: First chapter is still told by Hakuba in 1st person POV. The rest of the fic will be in standard 3rd person POV, though.
Face in the Photograph
Chapter 0
I wish it were possible to claim that I am not the same naive child I was when I first arrived in the country of my father's birth with the absolute conviction that there was no wrong that my father and his subordinates and, by obvious association, the police force could not handle. It was a marvel to watch that admittedly average looking Japanese man walk onto the scene and expertly separate the matter into what was true or untrue, related or unrelated.
It is embarrassing to admit now but back then, it was like magic to see him and those like him find the truth and bring justice to the criminals. It was incomprehensible to imagine that there really were people desperate enough to take the law into their own hands. However, it simple enough for my childhood self to decide who would or would not be shown mercy. Those who broke the law were wrong and, regardless of their situation, there should be no leniency shown for the few who thought of themselves as somehow exempt from the rules that governed everyone else.
The world was simple: those who disrespected the rules and the police's authority were bad and those that followed the rules were good. It didn't matter if they had a good reason for their actions or not since they broke the rules and that was that. It was how father thought and he was the director of the Department of Investigation, so it had to be true. Although, now, I would be the first to admit that my logic was flawed but that was all the justification I needed back then. There were no reasons for me to believe that the world operated in any other manner than black and white.
White…
It's ironic how my entire world was shaken by a criminal dressed in white.
I had just completed my elementary schooling in Japan when my father decided that it would be best if I returned to England for the summer to familiarize myself with my mother's language and culture before I transferred there for the remainder of my youth. Father still had work to complete in Japan and could not leave with me at that time. It had something to do with assisting an inspector from a nearby prefecture with a case involving a local ne'er-do-well turned international headache. I was given the responsibility of making a solo journey to rejoin my mother and the family in England. For a child my age, the prospect of flying alone promised to be an adventure of epic proportions and I truly thought it would promise more entertainment than it did every other time I had taken the flight in the company of my parents.
It didn't turn out that way.
The entire flight was disappointingly uneventful save for a Japanese magician who had booked the seat next to mine. He took it upon himself to see that I was kept busy and far, far away from anything that promised even the slightest bit of mental stimulation. The Japanese man laughed when I asked if he was asked by my father to be my chaperone until I was safely in the company of my mother and successfully diverted my attention for the rest of the flight with an impromptu magic show.
When we exited the plane and prepared to go our separate ways, I asked the man why he would travel all the way to England just to show off his tricks if Japanese audiences liked him so much. The magician just pressed a white gloved finger to his lips with an impish grin and commented that he had his own reasons and, besides, it was the job of people like me to find out why. But oddly enough, despite his earlier claims to have an urgent appointment with a very special audience, the Japanese magician continued to hover nearby as I waited for my mother to arrive.
Then, mother was there and the man in white disappeared into the crowd without a word. It was as if he had never been there. I think he knew how grateful I was for the company.
It was quite some time before I figured out the connection between my new friend, my father's unexpected arrival the next day, and the incident that dominated the airwaves for the next week. I had my suspicions and pet theories but a lack of concrete evidence to back up my claims kept me from investigating as much as I would have liked. There was nothing more I wanted to do than to follow the trail of clues deliberately left behind in my possession for the longest time.
I became distracted by my consulting job with the police department and time passed. I set aside ideas of finally tracking down that man in white and focused on the concerns of the present, instead of chasing down a ghost. I refused to indulge in the temptation to follow up on my theories about the Japanese magician after I finally returned to Japan. I was to assist on an unusual case in my area of expertise.
At first I had been suspicious when I had received the request. I was familiar with Japanese and international law because of my interest in following up on the case that had brought my father all the way to England but I didn't see how that would be relevant. My fears were unfounded. The request to return to Japan was traced back to my father and his desire for me to have a little more exposure to the other side of my heritage. I arrived to discover that he and mother had conspired to get me transferred to Ekoda High School for the remainder of my schooling before I could be officially accepted on the force. Despite my initial chagrin at being outmanoeuvred, I was grateful that they had acted without my knowledge.
It was there that I crossed paths with a criminal in white.
It was familiar in ways I couldn't remember. Everything from the mannerisms of the thief to the costume brought half-forgotten memories to the fore so I had to know why. Why did he steal when he didn't act like a criminal? There was some sort of reasoning that lay behind his actions. I didn't know how, but I knew it, even though I didn't know what "it" was.
What was the logic behind his actions? What drove him to only seek certain targets? What was the reason for his thievery? When I finally cornered the thief in white at the museum, I had to ask "why".
The criminal in white just smiled and, unexpectedly, the half-forgotten words from my youth came to mind and I knew why.
It was my job to figure out the answer.