L was peacefully busy when his computer beeped with a phone call from what his investigations had told him was Detective Morgan's private cellular number. Bemused, he wandered over to the computer and hit Connect.
"Detective Morgan?" he inquired calmly.
"L!" Morgan gasped. This was followed by what sounded like a sob. "It was him!"
L was instantly alert. "What was who, Detective?"
"The crimes!" Morgan cried, a little bit hysterical. "Sam! My brother! He's dead!"
"Don't move anything," L advised as sharply as he could without sounding harsh. "Let a team get down there; go somewhere—"
"You don't understand!" Morgan interrupted frantically. "It's not over - there's going to be another crime; he set it up! I only know because I ran home for something, I found him, he killed himself and there's another nursery rhyme and he's going to kill someone else!" Another sob.
"Are you sure?" L asked quickly. "When, where?"
"'Rock-a-Bye, Baby'," Morgan reported unsteadily. "By the clock; he stopped it and set it ahead to two - whatever he planned—"
L glanced at his computer clock. One fifty-seven, and who knew whether it matched the timepiece due to set off whatever crime was in store—
"We don't have time to investigate," L heard himself say, his own voice strained. "We have to figure out what he was planning, now. Who could he be after? Was it him who put Kat down the well, and why?"
"He - he was in boarding schools and things, and institutions like yours, for a while in America," Morgan replied, her voice quavering. "After my dad divorced his mom, while his life wasn't as steady. Sam hated them; he - but I thought he liked children; I don't see why he would be trying to hurt them—"
"Children," L said, trying to keep his voice steady. He glanced at the clock - one fifty-eight. "He's been leaving nursery rhymes and he went after Kat; what if he's going to hurt one of the children?"
"I - maybe," Morgan said, also sounding as though she was trying to keep from completely losing it. "Rock-a-Bye Baby, maybe one of the younger ones. In the treetop? Do you have a treehouse? And the one before that was Mary Had A Little Lamb, but you don't have a Mary. Maybe the reference to a lamb, or following? Lambs represent innocence; 'Its fleece was white as snow'? And—"
"No," L breathed.
"No what? Do—"
"No, no, no, no," L moaned. "He sent it—" And then he was out the door running, leaving it to slam against the wall, leaving Morgan's startled questions on the computer.
He didn't have much time. A glance into the playroom yielded nothing, so he turned off down the corridor and went up the staircase three steps at a time, the frantic pounding of his heart in his chest echoing in his ears. If he was too late—
Flying down the corridor past a bewildered Watari, he turned a corner and slammed open the door to Near's room. The white-haired boy looked up, startled, from where he sat on the floor, assembling a puzzle, one arm looped around his new robot.
In one swift motion, L stooped, grabbed the toy in both hands, and threw it out the open window.
Just past the frame, the robot exploded.
L dropped to his knees and put both arms around Near, trying to shield him from the blast as fire and wood erupted inward. Hot embers stung his cheeks, and he put a hand on the back of Near's head, pushing the boy's face into L's chest to protect it as a wave of heat and smoke washed over them. He felt his lungs burning as he gasped for breath and heard Near beginning to cough.
What seemed like seconds later, it was over. Watari had appeared, fire extinguisher in hand, with almost inhuman speed, and L had staggered to his feet and managed to carry Near out into the corridor, where he turned the corner before sinking to the ground, giving the two a chance to catch their breath in clean air. There were frightened cries and the sounds of doors opening, and then children began appearing to find out what had happened.
"Go downstairs," L ordered, his voice hoarse from smoke. "Fiona, June, take Near to the infirmary. The rest of you, get to the playroom, fetch Rachel to stay there with you, and send Amos up here with as many wet towels as he can find. Hurry." Children scampered towards the staircase as two of the girls came forward to take Near's arms and help him up. The white-haired boy looked sooty and shaken but, thankfully, largely uninjured.
Once the hallway was clear, L headed back into Near's room.
It took half an hour before he, Watari, and Amos were satisfied that anything remotely resembling an ember had been doused and that everything was safe, and then L's two companions dragged him to the infirmary himself to be checked over and patched up. When he arrived, Near was peacefully asleep in one of the beds, wearing a clean set of pajamas a few sizes too big for him.
"Will he be all right?" L asked nervously as he sat down and stripped off his shirt.
"He's fine," the doctor assured, lifting his stethoscope to his ears and pressing the end to the left side of L's chest. "I checked him over carefully; he was frightened but not hurt. Breathe in and out, please."
L did so, feeling significantly calmer. Estavan Garcia had his complete trust about medical matters - the young doctor had only been working at Wammy's House for a few years, but he'd proved himself to be more than competent time and time again. With his expertise, the hospital-quality equipment in the infirmary, and Rachel's training as a nurse, it was rare that a medical problem within the House could not be solved without leaving it.
Once L had been sufficiently checked and had allowed his minor cuts and burns to be taken care of, he thanked Doctor Garcia and returned to his room to speak to the police. When he reached his computer, there was a call waiting from the police station. He answered it to discover Detective Morgan, looking slightly pale but calm.
"Watari just let us know what happened," she told him. "I'm so glad that neither you nor the boy was seriously injured. And - and I'm sorry," she finished miserably.
"What your brother did is not your fault," L said gently. "And your quick action is what saved Near's life. I'm sure our investigation—"
"Not ours," Morgan said quietly. "I - I asked my superiors if I could step down from it, since I'm involved now, and probably as a suspect. They wouldn't let me leave it entirely, but Detective Anderson is taking over the main management of it, and I'm going to work on it as his assistant."
L frowned faintly. "Your superiors were right; I would also like you to remain on this case. But I have no objections to working with Detective Anderson as well, provided that I can speak to him about it."
Morgan nodded. "He just got back; he was helping investigate my house and the final clues. I'll put him on."
She stood up, and for a few moments, there was the murmur of voices - and then a man sat down in front of the camera. He didn't look much like a police detective - his hair was long and straight, a bleached blond that contrasted strangely with the unremarkable brown of his facial hair, and his glasses had thick, circular frames. A series of metal studs climbed up his ears, his clothing was somewhat casual, and his smile was easy and careless.
"Hey," he said. "I'm Jeff Anderson."
"I am L," L said, rather unnecessarily. "I have been given to understand that you are now sharing this case with Detective Morgan."
Anderson nodded. "Yeah. Kathleen's a good investigator and I don't think she needs my help, but all this with her brother's gotten her shaken up, so I said I'd do what I could."
"I take it you have just finished investigating said brother," L told him. "What did you find?"
"It doesn't look good," Anderson said grimly. "Not for Kathleen, at least. It was definitely suicide - he hung himself from a beam - and we found all sorts of stuff hidden in his room: all the information and speculation he could dig up - some of it from Kathleen's case notes - on your orphanage, materials for making explosives, even stuff that suggests he may have been some kind of devil-worshipper. All in all, it sounds like he wasn't quite right in the head."
L considered momentarily. "That's an uncomfortably easy explanation," he decided.
"I know," Anderson nodded. "I think there's a chance he'd planned more, or in the worst case has some kind of accomplice he's left another part of the plot with. I'd like to do what we can to give your institution some kind of police protection."
"We don't allow outsiders on the premises," L informed him.
"I know that, too," Anderson replied. "But perhaps there's something else we can do. Kathleen said that the other day, you were talking about some kind of surveillance system?"
"Only in the context of why there can't be one," L said uncomfortably.
"Not inside the building," Anderson amended. "Definitely not inside; that would be too dangerous and too much of a breach of your privacy. But if you let us place cameras around the perimeter, we could monitor everyone entering the grounds without having to go inside them ourselves - act as a safe kind of security for you."
L considered. To be honest, the idea had a rather powerful appeal.
"Can you keep them from pointing inward towards the House without leaving any blind spots?" he asked.
"Absolutely," Anderson promised. "We could get them installed tonight, and I can show you what the feeds would look like before anyone else sees them, so that you can decide then."
L paused. "All right," he finally agreed.
"Wonderful," Anderson smiled. "I'll have them ready by this evening. I don't know if they're even truly necessary - after all, Sam Morgan's death may have been the end of this - but I want to do everything we can to make absolutely certain that your children are safe."
"Thank you," L said calmly before hanging up. He took a deep breath, then got to his feet and started downstairs towards the playroom, where he knew most of the House would be gathered, waiting for his instructions.
Yes, he thought to himself as he started down the stairs, they are my children. All of them. And I'll do whatever I need to in order to keep them safe.
But Sam Morgan was dead, and the case seemed to be closing, and maybe, just maybe, the danger was over now.