Chapter 5

Distracting Nakamori-chan from the unfortunate death aside, Shinichi was kind of enjoying talking about his family's misadventures. He didn't dare discuss any of the ones where he was a main player—he'd rather keep his ears safe from Nakamori-chan's loud volume—but there were still plenty left over to tell.

"Please tell me you're kidding!" Kuroba exclaimed, just as wrapped up in Shinichi's tale as Nakamori-chan. "Leonardo Da Vinci? Seriously?"

"Yeah," Shinichi said. "I was there and I still don't understand how it happened. I think it was supposed to be part of some… cloning thing? It was weird."

Kuroba threw his hands up in the air. "That's it! I can't compete with this! Congratulations, your life has officially broken my brain." He slammed his head on the table. Nakamori-chan giggled at the theatrics. He was being overdramatic on purpose obviously, adding to Shinichi's show in the only way that made sense. "How do you live like this, Lupin?"

Shinichi shrugged. "I've gotten used to it."

The bell over the door rang and several men entered. Some wore police uniforms, one was in a suit—detective, without a doubt—and the last was overweight and dressed in an orange trench coat and hat, a large walrus mustache under his nose. Hakuba exited the kitchen and as the door swung shut, Shinichi caught a glance at the body inside. Male, early 40s, no trace of blood, so either poison or strangulation. Probably poison as it would be difficult to strangle someone quickly in a busy kitchen. His skin was a darker tone than average, tanned rather than natural, and was that…? Shinichi's eyes widened.

"Ah, Hakuba-kun!" The orange man exclaimed. "Always on the scene, as usual."

"Meguire-Keibu," Hakuba said. "The victim is Hiro Hidetoshi, 39, a waiter at this café. Cause of death appears to be poisoning, though we won't know which kind without a toxicology report. Apparently, after eating lunch, Moriya Kozakura-san, a coworker, found Hidetoshi-san coughing and clutching his chest before he collapsed."

Shinichi frowned. Lunch? So late in the afternoon?

Meguire nodded. "Any suspects?"

"Not yet, but I haven't had a chance in interrogate the kitchen staff, so we'll see—"

Scanning the kitchen staff that had assembled near the cash register, Shinichi narrowed his eyes. The chief was the obvious choice; his behavior was skittery, his eyes flickering back and forth and he was wringing his hands—guilty behavior. But no… he was too obvious. A real murderer would look as nonchalant as possible. Besides, he was the only chef for the entire café that was low on staff—including the victim, there was only one other waitress and a dishwasher. He would have been too busy.

There! His eyes landed on an older woman, white streaking her hair. Her lunch—grilled sandwich, two of edamame, coffee—sat untouched, but she kept glancing between the kitchen door and the police, her lip bitten raw. At her side sat a briefcase that she nudged every once in a while, to reassure herself that it was still there. And her hands… Shinichi smirked.

"Hey, let me out," Shinichi said. Kuroba moved, brows furrowed in confusion as he watched Shinichi approach the woman while the police began questioning the cook. He sat the chair to her left. "Excuse me, but are you alright?" he asked quietly.

She jumped in her seat. "Oh, yes, I'm fine! It's… It's just…"

"You were married to the deceased?"

Her jaw dropped. "How did you know that?" she whispered.

"You're lunch is specially made—not on the menu," he began. "You were here before us, yet you still haven't eaten much of it, so you're waiting for something, and you've been glancing towards the kitchen, meaning that you've been waiting to speak to someone in there. Not as a customer, otherwise you would have flagged down the waitress and asked for them, so you wanted them to see you out here. Your husband, though it wouldn't have been for much longer, given the tan line on your finger. He has a similar one."

"How did you know all that?"

Shinichi shrugged. "Just some deduction and a lifetime of people watching. Did I get anything wrong?"

She slumped in her seat. "N-No. No, everything is spot on. My name is Fumiyo Hidetoshi. I came here to force Hiro to sign the divorce papers—he hasn't been home for two weeks, ever since I confronted him about his affair. I know which tables he's supposed to wait on, so I sat here to try and make him talk to me, but… I guess he was just waiting in back for me to leave." She laughed bitterly. "He thought that we could still make things work, that I just needed some time to cool down. He just… I couldn't stay with someone like that. And now he's…"

"So, his lunch in back wasn't planned?"

"No. He's always disliked eating lunch—said it makes—" she corrected herself— "made him feel tired."

"And do you know who he was having the affair with?"

She shook her head. "I only overheard a few phone conversations from Hiro's end. And they were not something you could misunderstand."

He nodded. Fumiyo looked at him, terrified, her eyes flickering over to the police. Shinichi got the idea. "Oh, don't worry. I'll make sure the police don't suspect you. You didn't do it, after all."

"Huh?"

Shinichi stood. "How would you have gotten in the kitchen without anyone seeing you? Don't worry, oba-san. I've got this."

He didn't have this. Shinichi studied the staff again, this time looking for further than obvious signs of guilt, unlike the police who were still harassing the poor cook. It was down to the waitress and the dish boy. The waitress was in her late twenties, a little young for man as old as Hidetoshi, but apparently men were interested in younger women. Shinichi personally never found the appeal in women at all—with only Auntie and movies as his main interactions, he found himself uninterested rather quickly. She was pretty, Shinichi assumed as she wore enough makeup to cover anything that could be interpreted as unseemly. She reminded him as a Barbie doll with the moral compass of one—to say, none at all. And she was in a relationship with someone, but…

Walking up to the group of staff and police, Shinichi spoke, speaking from the chest so his voice would project. "Yuri Kasaka, correct?"

The dish boy blinked in surprise, having been ignored for most of the investigation. "Yes…?"

"Arsène Lupin. Tell me, when did you begin your affair with Hiro Hidetoshi?"

All noise in the room stopped. Police were staring wide-eyed while Hakuba looked like he was about to lay an egg. "W-What!?" Yuri squeaked out, his face ashen. "Hidetoshi-san!? W-We just worked together, why would you think that!?"

"Your other two living coworkers live alone based on the wrinkles of the cook's clothes and her immaculate makeup—he doesn't care much about cleaning, she has tons of time for her appearance. But based on your apron, you'd be more like the cook; however your clothes aren't nearly as bad as his, so someone is taking care of you, but only recently. Likewise, Hidetoshi-san is wearing clothing that clearly show that they've been well-cared for, but his wrinkles says that's changed recently and he's had to move it with someone less caring. What better place for him to stay but at his lover's house?

"The poison, based on the speed and apparent suffocation, seems to be strychnine. A Clematis leaf is stuck to your shoe—the plant probably grows outside your home. You could have easily added some of the seeds to Hidetoshi-san's food." Yuri gulped, but Hakuba didn't seem very convinced so Shinichi added, "Also, you have a hickey."

Yuri slapped his hand over the hickey, his expression murderous. "So what if we were sleeping together!? Why would I want to kill the man I loved?"

"Because he didn't love you back." Yuri flinched. "He wanted to stay with his wife, not you." His face contorted. Shinichi pressed further. "So you killed him and now you have to live the rest of your life knowing that the only person you loved just wanted you for sex."

He collapsed, arms hugging himself as he sobbed. "You're right…" he whimpered, glaring up at Shinichi. "He wanted to go back to his bitch of a wife, so I… I… Oh, God, Hiro!"

The police lead the murderer away after thanking Shinichi for his help. A hand fell on his shoulder and Shinichi twisted to see Hakuba smiling at him. "Oi, what's with that look?"

"You know, Lupin, you could probably make a decent detective if you wanted to."

A detective? The idea had never occurred to him. Sure, Shinichi had met his fair share of detectives over the years, but… to join them? It almost felt like blasphemy, yet why did it feel destined? Shinichi shook his head. "Doubtful. I was raised by thieves, remember? I was taught that everything not bolted to the floor could be stolen, and even then you could still try to take it. But murder… I don't understand how someone could maliciously take a life."

Hakuba snorted. "You sure you're not a detective? Because you sound like one."

"Don't even joke about that. My great-grandfather would rise from the grave just to slap me upside the head for joining the enemy."

"Pity. I could use another pair of hands to help me catch Kaitou Kid."

Shinichi frowned. "Kaitou Kid? Who's that?"