Part 03 – Solution
"What do you think about this case with the thief who only targets anything of worth in the color blue?"
"Mmm."
"It could be a psychosis—or just something to throw off the police. Everything he steals is worth a great deal, blue or not."
"Hmm."
"On the other hand, he has left behind even more valuable objects, such as diamonds, at the crime scene when they don't fit his peculiar standards. Perhaps the dealer he sells the gems and art to is very particular?"
Not even a verbal response this time as L just stared dully at the laptop screen in front of him.
"L."
"Hmm?"
"You're being ridiculous. And you're acting more spoiled than usual."
"Hmm."
"L."
Nothing.
"Lawliet."
L's head snapped up upon hearing the unusual moniker—well, not unusual per se, since it was his real name. But unusual in that he rarely heard it spoken aloud. "What?" he asked, the first actual word he'd spoken since their plane had taken off.
"We've been on this flight for nearly ten hours and none of the cases you've been briefed on has sparked even the slightest bit of interest."
"That is true."
"Care to explain why?"
"They are all boring."
Watari paused, argued internally, and finally decided just to let that one go. "And you've been ignoring your pastries. They're cherry turnovers, and you've let them go cold."
L examined the flaky pastries with an expression that was startlingly similar to distaste. "I am not hungry."
"You haven't eaten for ten hours. Anyone in your situation would be hungry."
"Not necessarily," L argued, just for the sake of arguing. He had a feeling that Watari was not pleased at being ignored for such a lengthy amount of time, particularly since L was all the company he had on this private jet. "If I were possessed of an eating disorder for an extended amount of time, particularly anorexia nervosa, my brain would stop receiving signals from my stomach to simulate the sensation of hunger."
"L."
"What?"
"Are you anorexic?"
"Of course not, Watari. What a strange thing to say. I was merely pointing out the most obvious hole in your logic."
Again, Watari decided that that comment was probably better left alone. "Why have you been so . . . utterly despondent for the duration of this flight?"
L looked at him plaintively. "I am stripped of internet capabilities while flying," he said, and then paused. "Actually, technically it may be possible to set up a mobile wireless connection, but that technology has not yet been explored fully, and it would be easier to do at slower speeds. Wireless connections in a vehicle, or a train, for example, may be possible sometimes soon. In a jet flying at nearly 800 kilometers per hour, however, all hope is lost for the near future of internet connection."
"So, in short, you are depressed because you can't access the web?"
"Yes, in short."
"And, to be more concise, you are upset because you can't do further research on Yagami Raito."
L didn't answer that for a moment, and instead chewed on his nail. Finally, he said, "I think that 'upset' is too strong a word."
"You didn't protest when I used 'depressed' to describe you," Watari said, using the very last vestiges of his patience to see this conversation through.
"Depressed is a state," L explained tolerantly. "Upset is an emotion. I am depressed. I feel upset."
"It seems to me that you are splitting hairs over terminology while avoiding my mention of Yagami," Watari said, refusing to be sidetracked.
"Hmm . . . yes," L agreed, turning back to his notes on Raito's case. "I know there is something here that will tell me what I need to know. There is always something . . ."
"Perhaps he thought of everything?" Watari suggested wearily.
L didn't even glance in his direction. "Yagami is brilliant, but he is still human. He isn't perfect. He can't be."
"He certainly has planned well, and I'm certain that he didn't expect you to be the one trying to find him," Watari pointed out, leaning back in his seat and considering a nap for the last two hours of the flight. He'd stayed awake out of courtesy for L, but he was not as young as he used to be, and these late hours were starting to wear on him.
"I am aware," L muttered, glaring vaguely at the screen in front of him. "That is why his disappearance intrigues—and frustrates—me. Why would he go to such extreme measures when it was likely that only his father and possibly some members of the NPA would be looking for him? They are capable men, to be sure, but none of them are anywhere near his own intelligence level."
Seeing his chance (however small it was), Watari jumped in. "Speaking of Near," he began, and paused when L turned to face him, his expression slightly startled.
"Was I?" he asked curiously.
"Close enough," Watari said, "since we really ought to discuss your possible successors before we arrive."
"I will not be expected to see them immediately," L said, a trace of panic tainting his usually expressionless tone.
"No," Watari agreed, suppressing a smile. "It will be nearly midnight by the time we arrive at the orphanage, and they should be asleep."
"Have they been made aware of my arrival?" L asked, looking considerably more sedate now that he knew he wouldn't be accosted by overzealous children and preteens the moment he stepped foot on the property.
"No, actually," Watari realized. "I suppose I should call Roger—he doesn't even know we're coming."
L waved a hand. "He doesn't need to; he's undoubtedly asleep right now if it's nearly ten in Britain, and waking him up won't achieve anything. We can let ourselves in."
Watari set down his cell phone. "Very well," he said. There was a pause, and then he returned to his previous subject. "About Near," he said.
L sighed and turned to face him again, though he did look wistfully over his shoulder at the computer which now appeared to be playing bits of skipping video over and over. "What about him?"
"Would you like to be briefed on Near and Mello before we arrive?"
"What is there to know?" L asked, a bit callously. "I assume that Mello is still the same demonstrative, sensitive little creature and Near is still the same socially retarded, frighteningly brilliant child?"
"There is a bit more to them than that," Watari protested. "L, you of all people should know not to categorize anyone."
L sighed and played with his toes a bit. "I am getting rather . . . exhausted from hearing all of your lecturing, Watari," he commented. "I believe that it is causing me distress to hear you disapprove of nearly everything I do as of late."
Watari paused to translate that from subdued, understated L-speak to what a normal 24-year-old might say to their elderly caregiver. What he came up with was, approximately, God, would you please leave me the hell alone, already? Watari cringed slightly. When had his internal monologues become so vulgar? "Very well," he said, nodding to show that he understood. "I'll leave you to your puzzle, then."
L made to turn back to his computer, but then hesitated. "Is there anything that I should know before we arrive?" he asked. Watari looked at L in mild surprise. It wasn't like him to be considerate or even understanding. L shrugged, not making eye contact.
"Their IQs and test scores are very close—closer than either of them likely imagine," Watari said, not wasting any time now that he had L's attention. "However, although they look the same on paper, they each have strengths and weaknesses that could be corrected if they could just be persuaded to work together. Mello's zeal and impetuousness would provide energy, but Near's amity and composition would keep him from making errors in judgment due to his own emotion.
"Near seems like the better candidate, except for the fact that he is desperately naïve and, as you so bluntly put it, socially retarded. If Mello were chosen, however, and given free reign, he would likely be dead within weeks. Near would probably last considerably longer; however they would probably accomplish the same amount, given Near's propensity to stall and hesitate."
"Hmm," L said. "It appears that as you said, they would work better as a team. I take it that is not an option?"
"Correct," Watari agreed. "Near says that he would have no problem working closely with Mello, but he does take his own quiet, vindictive pleasure in provoking Mello. Mello flat out refuses to communicate with Near—unless it is to torment him in some way."
"This does not sound promising," L commented dryly. "Is there another option?"
Watari frowned, considering. "Well, there is Matt, but his test scores are quite a bit lower."
"How much lower?"
"Usually at least ten to even twenty points," Watari said.
L considered. "In every aspect and subject?" he asked.
Watari strained to remember through his exhaustion. "We'll have to check with Roger in the morning," he said, "but I believe that he actually scored higher than either of them when it came to technology, and I think when it came to emotional responses and triggers."
"People skills and computers," L summarized. "Interesting combination. Could be formidable. I will have to meet with him as well."
"That could end up being a problem, actually," Watari admitted, leaning back in his chair.
"Why?"
"Matt has asked not to be considered as one of your heirs."
L blinked. "Why?"
Watari glanced over at him. "I suppose he doesn't want to be," he said simply. "I'm not sure, though. You'll have to ask him."
"I suppose I will," L said, biting down on his thumb. He looked up sharply at Watari, about to speak, but stopped when he realized that Watari was already lightly dozing. That was fine with L—now he could get back to his puzzle.
Raito, where are you hiding? he wondered. L had briefly considered going through airport records and seeing what tickets had cost 180,000 yen the day Raito had absconded Japan, but there were too many variables. Perhaps Raito had purchased a business seat. Perhaps he'd tipped his attendant. And there were several tickets that cost about that much money.
L sighed, glaring at the computer in front of him. Useless it was without any network capabilities. It wasn't even as though L could get any new CCTV footage or traffic cams or anything useful when he was 45,000 feet off the ground and far away from any ice cream. Curse modern travel. Damn the need to travel. And damn Wammy's for requiring his presence. He wanted nothing more than to immerse himself in this intricate game of hide-and-seek where neither side knew all of the players, and the hiding places could be all over the world.
It was thrilling, and at the same time disheartening, that even if L managed to figure out where Raito had gone when he bought the plane ticket, there was no guarantee that Raito had stayed there. In fact, if he were smart (and he was), Raito would constantly move around to avoid capture. Actually, maybe Raito had just made one round trip—gone to wherever the hell he'd gone to, then cycled back to Tokyo by plane or car or boat or hell, instantaneous teleportation for all L knew.
But L needn't think about that right now. Because he was feeling crazy and cooped up and irritated as it was without adding paranoia and the possibility of innovative technology to the mix. Right now he just needed to think about how to determine Raito's initial location. He would need a visa, a passport, money, probably further ID, and maybe even a birth certificate, depending on what country he was flying to. Did any of that help L?
Not really. No.
Fine then. What else?
There were security checks he had to get through—but as long as he didn't insist on carrying any weapons, he shouldn't have had much trouble with those. He would have to pass a medical exam—or fake a medical exam, so they could be sure he wasn't bringing disease into other countries. Again, however the thoroughness and records of those exams varied from nation to nation.
He would need a reason. They didn't let just anyone through. And he couldn't have said that he was going for business. He was too young, and he couldn't fake being much older. Vacation was out too, since he really was just seventeen, and he looked a bit younger. If Raito was smart (and he was, damn it, he was), he wouldn't have tried to pass himself off as any older than eighteen. And since it was the end of January, he would still presumably be in school, particularly in Japan, where school was so predominant . . .
What reason could he give them, then, if business and pleasure were both out? He had to declare a reason, and he wouldn't want it to seem even the slightest bit suspect, because it the police had reason to search his guise further, they would probably find out that his carefully constructed ID was false, and then he would be in a whole heap of trouble.
School was a possibility, but also unlikely, since he would be switching mid-semester, and again, he didn't have much reason. Visiting family was also out, since if they pried, they would discover that his family was right there in Tokyo, looking for him. And that road again ended in trouble.
So if he wasn't going for a job he already had, and he wasn't on vacation, and he would have to pass himself off as graduated . . .
He could have stated his reason as going for a new job. That was possibly. Very plausible. He would have had to actually set up a job wherever he was going, of course, since security was in the habit of checking stories, but that wouldn't be a problem for him. Finding a job with his intelligence would be easy.
And Tokyo's airport was fastidious in recording the interviews they held with their passengers, however brief.
Yes. This could work. L could access the airport's records and look for a passenger that was traveling to Western Europe or the U.S. in search of a new job in the correct time frame. That would narrow things down considerably, and L could even discover what alias Raito had chosen to go by.
L turned back to his computer, fingers flying to the keys, poised, ready, waiting for his program to—
But his program wasn't going to. Because it couldn't.
Because he was 45—no, 42,000 feet up in the air, and he had no network connection, so he couldn't hack the Tokyo airport records, so he couldn't figure out his puzzle.
Damn it. Damn everything. And everybody.
L made a quiet noise of frustration—which he absolutely refused to label a growl, even though that was probably the most apt description—and fell back into his seat, letting his hands fall to his sides. He glared tersely at Watari, but stopped almost immediately since it had no effect on his inert form.
This was going to be a very long trip.
Ten hours, forty-seven minutes, and nearly sixty seconds later, L was standing rather impatiently next to a chatting Watari and Roger, waiting until the clock struck exactly nine a.m. and he could leap onto his computer.
They had arrived at Wammy's late last night—or, rather, very early the next morning, and L had sped up the stairs to his own room and had opened and set up his computer, waited for the network to connect, and then had—been rewarded with nothing.
He'd been nearly at the end of his considerable patience when Watari had remembered that the orphanage had shut down the wireless connection completely after it had been discovered that Matt and Mello were using to hack into various computers—including L's.
Irony was a son of a bitch, L thought.
So L actually had to wait, again, for the computer lab to open, and even then it was probably going to be torture because they had dial-up, for God's sake. And it wasn't as though they could open the lab early, either, because the computers were time locked more securely than most Swiss bank vaults—again because Matt could hack anything with just about any technology—laptop, PSP, abacus. Damn him.
In retrospect, L probably could have taken a few hours the night before to set up his own network, but he'd had absolutely no patience left, so instead he'd drank herbal tea and had gone to bed angry for a few hours.
It seemed as though the world was working directly in opposition to L's wishes, and he wasn't even pretending to be interested in the conversation Watari and Roger were having about the method they used to hire staff members ("Random cryptograms placed all over the internet; if they can solve them and solve the riddle hidden in them, then they know where to come for the interview!" Roger had said excitedly. L had actually had to suppress the urge to hurt somebody.)
And finally, God, finally, L heard the serene grandfather clock in Roger's office chime nine o'clock, and he stood and excused himself before hurrying from the room. As he did, he heard Watari chuckle and begin to amicably explain his edgy behavior that morning. L would have to have a little talk with Watari about oversharing. But that was going to wait, because he was close to the second floor, where the computers were kept under lock and key, he just had to get through this crowd of children, who mercifully had never seen him before and so did not know who he was, and therefore would not bother him unduly.
After pushing past the miniature miscreants (L gave himself points for the alliterative nature of that thought, and then was immediately appalled with himself), L managed to stumble towards the second corridor on his right. Third door to the left—yes, there it was.
L stopped short in the doorway, pausing for a just a moment to catch his breath, and when he looked back on the experience, he was immensely glad that he had done so.
If he had just rushed into the room and had immediately slumped down at a computer, he likely would have completely missed one Yagami Raito, who was calmly sitting at a computer at the front of the room.
A/N: NO time to talk, late for school! Please review!