This is part three of five. Major A++ thanks to Oci for being my Kaito consult on this chapter, and also megaMEGA thanks to Shar for betaing for me!

Disclaimer: I do not own Detective Conan or Magic Kaito.

Chapter 3

There were no conclusive statements until after the wake, delayed due to the Superintendent General's wife's residency in England. Mrs. Hakuba arrived, though, on the first flight that she could manage, and graciously hosted a barrage of police officers, detectives, and members of the press on little to no sleep. Even then, it seemed that no one had any sort of helpful information for who could have killed their only son.

Conan watched Heiji join the pallbearers to carry the casket, wooden plank over his shoulder, and wondered if he'd have joined him if he wasn't only three feet tall. The nature of his murder made a final viewing possible, though all that the little detective could think about was wishing he could have gotten a better look at the injuries before the crime scene had been cleared. Besides, even in the fine suit, the teenage detective looked like any other dead person that he'd ever seen. Makeup could only do so much to mask the truth.

"He wasn't very good at reading kanji..." Hakuba's governess explained to no one in particular, wiping her eyes. She'd done so much crying that her glasses had been tucked away in the neckline of her black dress. "But he was such a good boy, and he worked so hard. It was always those cases keeping him up late at night, among other things. And, god, had I known... had I known... he was supposed to graduate this year and attend university!"

It was after the funeral, after everyone had given their last respects and contributions to the family. Most were talking shop, quietly gathered in small clumps in the shade of the building outside, but there were still a few that lingered at the doorway. The funeral itself had been small for a family like the Hakubas, considering their prestige in the community, and consisted mainly of officers. In fact, Conan thought it remarkably similar to what he'd seen around the conference room at a high level police briefing. There were some minor exceptions, of course, like the blonde woman who stayed close to the Superintendent General, features clearly indicative of her foreign nationality; Hakuba's mother. There were also a handful of teenagers from Ekoda High School, some saying nothing, some weeping quietly, all in black. Comforting each other.

The little boy looked back up at the older woman, wondering if she was addressing him, but she just continued to mumble to herself. "I should tend to the mistress," she said, wiping the fog from the lenses of her glasses, but didn't get further than that before she started sniffling again.

It was overly emotional for such a quiet ceremony. Very few had known the British detective well, but those who had couldn't seem to contain themselves, which was such an awkward contrast. Conan would have stayed close to Ran as a shield against all of the broken hearts, except that she was crying, too. Not that it was unusual; Ran was a bleeding heart who cared too much about everyone.

So he stuck to Heiji's side instead, but even he was somber.

"Kudou," Heiji said in a low whisper when Baaya had left them. "Do you think we coulda' stopped it?"

The shrunken detective didn't look up at him; he didn't like that waver in the normally confident Osakan's voice. Nor did he like the implication of guilt. Though, truth be told, he'd wondered that same thing a lot in the past four days.

"I don't know," Conan answered, reluctantly truthful.

If he'd given Hakuba the information that he'd wanted, would he have stayed to discuss it? Talked to Occhan? Would they have gone through the briefcase together, discovered the note? Would that have altered how things had turned out?

He doubted it.

Hakuba had probably known what it had meant; his baaya may have said he wasn't skilled with kanji, but to what degree? Hakuba wasn't stupid, that much was obvious. And he'd have had to go home at some point. Professional assassins were patient. So it was hard to say. The circumstances were so specific, so particular.

Further investigation revealed that Hakuba had been the one to sabotage the security camera, months ago. But why?

Kid had taken the journal, but there were still plenty of others to go through; under the window bench were quilts, journals full of similar writing, and a lock box, which was easily picked, but yielded very little. Cigarettes, photos of famous locations in Europe, and letters from someone he called ma bichette- his little doe.

It was frustrating. There were so many little pieces of information that were just- missing. The exceptionally clean crime scene; the philosophical essays about the complexities of humanity and life, all written for no one; the journal that Kid had taken; the canceled heist; the fact that no one could really tell him anything personal about Hakuba in that whole procession... what did it mean? What did it add up to?

Heiji crouched down and nudged the boy, thick brows creased in concern. "Oi," he muttered, and nodded his head at him in question.

Conan shrugged it off, pulling his glasses away to rub his tired eyes. "It just doesn't... I mean, even if we plug the organization into the equation, I still don't know who did it, Hattori... or why... What information was he so close to?"

The Osakan frowned, but had no answer, either. "Ain't there anywhere else we can take a look?"

With a sigh, Conan put the frames back in place, pushing on the bridge to adjust it on his nose. "At the station, maybe."

When Heiji nodded, Conan followed his gaze across the room, where his father- Superintendent Supervisor Hattori Heizo -was talking quietly with Hakuba's father.

"Yeah," Heiji said. "I'll see if I can find anythin' at our headquarters, too."

The staff began to usher out anyone but the immediate family behind, and Conan took one last glance before heading out the door with his tall companion.

Most of the crowd had dispersed by then. The sun was bright and warm on the summer grass, and the few remaining guests were standing in the patches of shade afforded by the various trees that lined the property. Ran was with the other teenagers, hugging one of the girls that had dissolved into tears. Next to them, a boy leaned against the trunk of the tree, eyes fixed on the ground. He looked… oddly familiar.

"Oi, Kudou." Heiji's tone cycled somewhere between disbelief and confusion. "That can't be-? That ain't you, so who...?"

Ah. That explained it. Conan narrowed his eyes, anger brimming all at once again. "That bastard..."

"Haa? Do you mean that's Kid?"

"I'll handle it." Fists clenched, he stomped over, forcing an unnatural smile on his chubby little face. "Ne ne!" he said, reaching up to tug on the hem of Ran's skirt. "Who's this guy, Ran-neechan?"

"Oh." Ran, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, pulled away from the other girl and looked down at the boy, sheepishly offering a little smile. "These are Hakuba-kun's friends from school. This is Nakamori Aoko," she nodded to the girl. "And this is... er, I guess I didn't get his name."

"Ah! Aoko is sorry! This is my stupid friend-" the girl began to bow her hellos to the new arrivals, only to be yanked by the boy sharply, grasping onto her arm.

"Ahoko! It's time to go!" he snapped.

"Ne!" Conan followed after, little legs moving at a trot. "But I wanna know who you are! You can't be rude like that!"

"Conan-kun!" Ran caught up with him and crouched to keep him held tight. "Let them go; they've been through enough today. They're really upset. They just lost their friend."

Conan struggled against her arms, but she only held him tighter. "But Ran-neechan!" he whined, pleading.

"I know, I know, you're upset, too." Ran nuzzled in against the back of his head, face buried in his hair. "I know, Conan-kun. You really liked Hakuba-kun, and he's gone. I'm sorry."

He opened his mouth to protest, but stopped when he felt the warm tears on the back of his neck. She was crying again. Panicked, he looked to Heiji for help, who looked just about as torn as he felt.

"I'm gonna go check on my ol' man," he finally muttered, and shuffled off with his hands in his pockets. "See ya'."

Bastard... Conan glared after him, but went limp in short order, letting Ran hold him. It hurt too much to know she was in pain, and even though he couldn't do much, he could at least be there for her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "Just remember that it's not your fault, Conan-kun..."

My fault? Conan craned his head, trying to look back at her, but she was holding him too tight.

Was it his fault...? No. That was stupid.

There was no way.

...but now he wasn't so sure.

. . .

Weeks passed without resolution. The Superintendent General wasn't about to let the murder of his son go unsolved, but there really wasn't all that much to go off of. Hakuba Saguru had pulled an enormous number of files from the Tokyo Metropolitan database, but other than solving a myriad of cold cases and making corrections to hundreds of reports, there was nothing really of note. The verdict was that teenage detective had been both prolific and meticulous with paperwork.

His own cases met every documented requirement when the police needed to be involved, but there were no other notes otherwise. Hakuba's agent didn't have copies of the files either, though he was certain that they existed in some capacity, somewhere.

"He was far too organized for there to be nothing. Probably hid them, or had them digitally. He was always on that damned phone of his." The agent reported this, of course, with half of his attention on the detectives and the other half on the smart phone pressed up against his ear.

Conan's own investigations were getting him nowhere. Nakamori Aoko was a student at Ekoda high school, where Hakuba Saguru had been enrolled; that much was true. Her father was Nakamori Ginzo, the inspector in charge of the Kid task force. That his daughter was friends with Kid...

Well, even then, was it? Kid had disguised himself as any number of people before. Nakamori-chan's friend would have been an excellent cover.

Why risk it otherwise?

It bothered him, though.

Did Kid really have something to do with Hakuba's death?

It was unlikely. Related, maybe, but Kid wasn't the killing type. But it was all that he had to go on, especially with the rest of the evidence under lockdown.

"Detectives are now working on a theory that the murder of teenage detective Hakuba Saguru might have been political in motive, sending a message to the Superintendent General." The woman on the screen looked up from her papers while pausing to let the information sink in, then continued. "Of course, investigations are still underway, and all statements from the Tokyo Metropolitan police department have been firm in their determination to bring the killer to justice."

Conan leaned back against the couch, papers spread over the coffee table, and sighed into the cellphone. "This is the first time they've mentioned the case in a week..."

"Yeah. They stopped over here, too. Guess it's not fresh anymore."

Heiji, like Conan, sounded weary to be talking about it again. He hadn't liked Hakuba, sure, but he hadn't wanted him to die, either. But it wasn't like they could do much about it; it was a case out of their hands.

The smaller detective snorted, leaning over to pick up one of the reports that he'd gone over a hundred times before. "Yeah. A cold case for the Cold Case Detective. Figures."

Heiji managed a little laugh, but it was half-hearted at best. After the silence stretched on the line, he cleared his throat. "Look, Kudou..."

"Mn?"

"I know this case is really buggin' ya and all, but..." He hesitated, and Conan let him stew on it, offering no help. So Heiji continued. "Ain't ya kind of spinnin' your wheels?"

The boy looked back at the television and the news ticker scrolling along the bottom of it. Maybe Heiji had a point, but it's not like it was going to just let him rest. It was a puzzle that had to be solved. "C'mon, Hattori... this is all wrapped up in something a lot bigger, and it might lead to them."

"Sure, but what can ya do without any more data? I mean, maybe ya can track Kid down? Get that journal back?"

"Yeah, because that's easy." Conan spared none of the sarcasm in his voice, glaring at the news woman.

"Yeah yeah, I know. But he's the only lead ya have, ain't he? An' you said that you had a name for 'im, right?"

Kuroba Kaito was the boy at the funeral, that much he'd learned. But if he really was Kaitou Kid, walking right into his home territory seemed like a stupidly dangerous idea. And if he wasn't, it would bring a bunch of suspicion on himself.

Either way, not something he really wanted to mess with.

"I'll deal with him at the next heist."

"Yeah but that could be months from now, Kudou!"

"Nah... he knows we need to talk."

There were a few moments of silence on the other end of the line before Heiji sighed once again. He was used to being left out of the details, but this was ridiculous. "If ya say so, Kudou..."

"Trust me."

. . .

Contact came via an anonymous text message two days later. A location, a date, a time, and 'Come alone, Meitantei-kun.'

Easy enough.

It was an annoying climb to get to the rooftop of Tokyo Marriott Hotel, but at least that meant that their confrontation would go without interruption. Another swipe of the access key, and Conan let himself out into the dark concrete, closing the door with a quiet click.

It was dark. The city lights below drowned out the stars while the half-moon above offered only highlights of silver. He wandered, sneakers padding in near silence, and scanned the area for- oh. There he was.

Lying on his back near the ledge was Kid, cape spread out beneath him like a blanket. If the thief had heard him, he gave no indication, simply staring up at the empty sky.

Conan coughed. Whatever game he was intending to play wasn't going to happen. It was better to get right to the point. He came to a stop six feet away; just out of reach. "So what do you want, KID? Are you going to confess?"

The thief sighed, his only movement the rise and fall of his chest. He didn't even look at him, just continued to lie there. "Confess what, exactly?" he asked. Tired.

"That you had something to do with his death."

Silence for a few seconds, and then he answered, "No."

"No you didn't, or no you aren't?"

Kid's eyes closed, trading sight for the action of lifting a hand, arm bent at the elbow. "Here."

The journal.

Conan regarded him for a few seconds, assessing his condition, the object, the situation, and clenched tiny fists at his side. "What, did you remove all mentions of you?"

"There weren't any," Kid said, and gave the book one tiny shake. "I'd keep it anyway, but it might help the investigation… so I relinquish it to you."

It would be easy enough to tell if the book had been altered in any way, but that still didn't mean that it wasn't a trap. But it was also the best lead that he had. He crept forward, step by step, and held out a hand for it. "Hand it over then, Kid."

The thief pried one eye open to look at him, considering, then tossed it with a simple flick of his wrist. Conan caught it easily enough with both arms, and backed away, holding it against his chest.

He had the book, but there was so much more that he needed. Conan sniffed, tucked it under his arm, and glared at the phantom. "Oi... so what, guilty conscience got to you?"

Kid waited a moment, then turned his head away, blinking in the dark before closing his eyes again. "You have the journal, meitantei-kun… leave me to my shadows..."

"Yeah, sure." Conan rolled his eyes, turning around to start back for the door. "Because I'm really gonna just let you go when you're the only one who seems to know what's going on here. Tell me, Kid, is your name really Kuroba?"

He waited for the tell-tale sound of shock or hesitation, but instead there was only silence. Was his deduction that spot on? Or was Kid-

Conan peeked over his shoulder only to find the rooftop vacant. No Kid.

Dammit!

. . .

The journal had very little to offer, and as far as Conan could tell, it hadn't been tampered with. Each page was just as he remembered it, and the cover had been wiped clean of all prints. There was still the faint scent of anise amid the pages, too. Kid had been telling the truth.

Conan thumbed through them, lying on floor next to the couch in the Mouri office. He knew he had to turn it over eventually, but not until he'd had a chance to go through them. Who knew what other evidence the police had locked away? He didn't want to risk it, even if it was probably nothing.

I often think of Holmes, lying in wait in the opium den, giving in to his vices while in the pursuit of his truth. It's human nature to have vices, you know; it's how we differentiate our perspective from reality. It's how we established boundaries for ourselves. Without knowing our limits, without pushing them, how are we to know what we're capable of, and what we ought to avoid?

Along this same vein, they say that it's better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all, which I firmly believe is true. You cannot know real, true love, at least in its fullest capacity, without first having your heart broken. You cannot know true joy and appreciate it without having also felt despair and the ache of longing.

Pain increases empathy and understanding. Pleasure does, as well. There must be a balance. Life must be experienced. If we detectives are to really, truly understand the motive behind the crime, we must not be perfect. We must not let ourselves believe that we are infallible.

We are only men (and women!), after all. Any of us can be corrupted. Any one of us can fall prey to our follies, and slip until our justifications become our ultimate undoing. Not one among us is sinless or spotless. But that is why we have God, is it not?

"Judge not, that ye be not judged.
"For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.
"And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye?"
[Matthew 7:1-3 KJV]

Yes, we are to make judgments based on the information that we have, but it must be with impartial empathy. Is there even such a thing? I believe that there is, though the precise way to describe it escapes me...

Conan stared at the page, squinted, then rubbed his eyes and closed the journal again. Hakuba was quoting the Bible in his detective work. What the hell...?

Even though it was giving him a headache, he opened it up to where he was before, and prepared himself to continue reading. There were only a few pages left... there had to be SOMETHING of value in there! Somewhere!

Then came the buzzing of his cell phone, signaling a call, which the detective answered with all of the eager excitement that he could muster. Thank god!

"Hakase?" he asked.

"No." Quiet, expectant, incredulous. It was Haibara.

"Oh." The relief faded, and Conan looked back at the journal again. Which was worse? "What do you want?"

"You have some mail here. You need to come pick it up."

Normally, Agasa-Hakase just left mail for Shinichi in a big pile for him to sort through whenever he had time. Which was rarely, since it was mostly junk. Such a pain...

"Ehh... I'll do it this weekend. Is it overflowing again?"

"Yes." Haibara's words were always clipped short, and this was no exception. "You should come take care of it."

"I don't wanna sort through fan mail, Haibara..." He grinned, taking his glasses off to look just a little more smug, even if the girl couldn't see it.

"This isn't fan mail."

Thoughts of fan mail were replaced with intrigue immediately and he sat up, putting the glasses back in place. "Eh? What is it?"

"A stack of letters. From Hakuba S. J."

Hakuba S. J. Hakuba Saguru. Saguru J. Hakuba. That was the name printed in the obituary.

Hakuba Saguru had sent him letters?

"What's the postmark?"

"Three days ago."

Conan got to his feet, stuffing the journal under the couch cushion, and hurried to the door to put his shoes on. "Haibara, is there anything else about the letters? Anything descriptive?"

"Sent internationally from Denmark... and each one of them has a wax seal of a horse."

The horse was the Hakuba family crest. Not that it couldn't be replicated easily enough, but... "How many letters are there?"

"I don't know," she snapped. "Come count them yourself."

She hung up before Conan could say anything else, but she didn't really need to; he was already on his way.