notes/warnings
+ argh! I'm sorry this is so freaking long. I couldn't find a good place to split this chapter up.
Difficult
L is sleeping soundly when T bounces into his room.
"L! L! Ryuuzaki! L! Wake up!"
L sits up before he's even properly conscious, and groans.
"I'm sure there were too many exclamation marks in that statement," Rae mutters from its corner.
"What is it?" L asks, going from sleepy to alert in approximately five seconds. "What's happened?"
"There's been another fire. A construction site in Inverurie. No deaths. Authorities think the blaze started about two hours ago."
L is on his feet in an instant.
"Are the others awake?"
"Right here," Naomi calls from outside, and M sticks his head in the doorway.
"What do you want us to do, L?"
L stares for a moment. M looks ruffled, almost like he's been sleeping.
He shakes his head. Wishful thinking.
"I want you and N to go down to the site, confirm whether or not it's Arcy's usual style. T? We're going to need coffee."
"Awww, I always have to make the coffee."
"And R, I want you to contact Watari. Get him to project the surveillance feed to the screen in the second office. I'll meet you there soon."
"Yes, L."
When they're gone, he closes his own door and reaches for his laptop.
"Arcy is picking up the pace," he says thoughtfully.
"It's almost as if the fast you investigate, the faster he goes," Rae muses.
"I was thinking the same thing," L agrees, loading the Aberdeenshire map again.
"Which means he's either calculated the movements of his detectives very accurately, or you really do have someone inside leaking information."
The Shinigami sounds different. Almost…worried.
"Doesn't this map load any faster?"
"I doubt we're as short on time as you seem to believe, Rae," L says, as it finally appears on the screen. He moves the cursor to place a big red cross over Inverurie, the sixth fire. Then he stands up, unceremoniously.
There's time to test a new theory, at any rate.
"I need to make some adjustments to the switchboard before I can work this out," he says flippantly.
"What?"
"It is highly likely that Arcy will contact the authorities again," L informs the death god. "If that's the case, I need to be absolutely contactable in all circumstances, and I need to have traces on all lines. It should take me thirty minutes, at the most."
"This isn't just about not wanting to use the death note," Rae sneers. "You honestly just don't care how many people die. You've got to do everything your way, even if it means more people get hurt. As long as you catch a criminal in the end, and get to look like a big hero, who cares, right?"
"Your acting skills are improving every day," L says admiringly. "You sound genuinely upset. I shall be back in a little while, anyway."
He leaves the computer open on the ground, and leaves.
He's almost ninety percent sure Rae won't follow him.
Twenty-five minutes pass, with no calls, no further fires, and no Rae.
Point for L.
M calls to confirm that the lighter and firestarter fluid match Arcy's other crimes. As expected, then. L glances occasionally at the map of Scotland on his screen. Definitely not a crucifix this time. Something new. A parallelogram with a tail extending from one corner. Meaning what? Tadpole? Open box? Diamond on a string?
R is running the dots through an identity program, looking for matches on local geographic locations, buildings, and common items of furniture.
"We still don't know conclusively if the cross was meant to refer to the method of death, or the place of death," L says, deep in thought. "I'd assume the location. We already know the method of death is probably going to be fire. Why would we care about the specific piece of furniture involved?"
"But, there was an element of irony to Ricketts' death," R counters. "The arson incidents could still be advertising Arcy's whole 'fuck you and fuck what you believe in' attitude."
"You've been spending too much time around M," L tells him with a tiny smile. Bad language is contagious.
"Oh, yeah. Don't tell my wife, whatever you do," he replies, sheepishly.
L turns back to the screen. The churches are completely empty; the footage is of statues staring eerily into space. No movement. Nothing unusual.
"It's not Abigail. He's after Abigail, L."
L blinks. The Shinigami has appeared beside him suddenly, and is apparently unsettled.
"Go on," L mouths, as his mental permanent marker adds another tally next to his name.
Rae jabs its finger at his map.
"Look, my mistake was connecting Alford and Westhill. But if you draw a primary line from Farmtown to Inverurie, through Keith and Huntley, and then join the other two onto that with separate lines, you get."
"A beast," L says, out loud.
A constellation-like representation of a four-legged animal. There's no mistaking it.
"A what?" R asks.
"Abigail's the animal lover. It must be her. Welfare is her passion, almost her religion. They're going to burn her with her animals, L."
L feels the adrenaline rush through him, his focus sharpening.
"Her menagerie," he says quickly.
It might not be. Rae jumps to conclusions. Well, maybe Rae jumps to conclusions. Rae wants him to jump to conclusions, but that might not be the same thing.
"What? What have you worked out now?" R demands.
"Abigail's next," L tells him. "We need to get back to the university. Contact the others and send them down there."
He hits the intercom button.
"T. Watari. We need a car, and we need to go right now."
"Sweetheart, L thinks they're gonna go after Abigail," R says briskly into his phone. "And apparently soon."
"How…how did you know that?" N asks, her voice static-y over the speakerphone.
Oh, L thinks, and the energy drains away from him as quickly as it arrived.
"Too late," the Shinigami says, baffled. "Why is he moving so much faster than last time? I don't understand it."
"We got the call not thirty seconds ago," N says. "Muffled voice called a police station. Fire in Abigail's menagerie. The police have already got someone down there. They haven't identified the body, but…"
"Oh my god," says T from the door. "They got her, didn't they? We were only talking to her a few days ago."
"Thank you, N," L tells her. "We'll go to the scene anyway. Please meet us there."
Hit hits the intercom for Watari a second time.
"So she was innocent," T says, sadly. "How awful. And now, we don't even have any leads."
Abigail's death is almost identical to Ricketts', right down to the number on her chest.
"Two again?" M wonders. "Why?"
"Was it really necessary to burn all these animals?" N asks. She's cradling a blackened parrot in her hand, tears in her eyes.
Rae is naturally unmoved by the morbid scenery.
"So hung up on irrelevant details," it says irritably. "Nothing here is of any use to your investigation. Take your pictures, go home, and focus on the important things."
L stares at it.
"Let's face it, whoever did this is probably watching you right now," Rae says.
"The perimeter is clear, isn't it, R?" L asks. "There's no one around? No bugs?"
"Right," R tells him. "The police thought Arcy might want to revel in his handiwork, but there's no one around."
"Well, at least you've got some sense," Rae says. "But you've worked it out, haven't you, great detective? You know what Arcy wants."
L has his suspicions.
"Again, he contacted not the closest station to the scene of the crime, but the one closest to your hotel. Or, in this case, the station closest to the hotel two streets down, the place where the police records show you're staying. Just like last time."
L raises his eyebrows, impressed. If Rae were a human, and not a complete sociopath, he'd sign it up in a heartbeat.
"Correct," he says softly. "Absolutely correct."
"So essentially, they're getting exactly what they want," Rae concludes. "The attention of the best. Number one."
L.
"I know," L whispers. "I know."
And the most recent development in the case of Arcy, the genius-killer, is this. World's greatest detective L has announced he is retiring from the case as he fears for his own personal safety, and indeed, has already left for France. The police are understandably concerned by this turn of events, but vow to bring this murderer to justice.
L nods at the television approvingly.
"Excellent. Exactly to script."
"If Arcy has access to police information, won't they know you're still in London?" T asks.
"Only a very small group of officers know about the rigged broadcast," R explains to him. "If Arcy doesn't stop, we'll know one of them must have leaked the information. Either way, it narrows down the field."
"Oh," T says, and then. "Do you know what this reminds me of?"
"The Kira case?" M asks boredly.
"How did you guess?"
"You say that about every other case," M says, flicking the ash from the end of his cigarette. "You're obsessed with it."
M's actually more obsessed with it than T is, but quietly. Discreetly. Only L has some idea of the horrible, painful death he would bring on everyone who was ever connected to Kira. He'd tear them all apart in an instant if he could. No remorse. As if that would somehow undo the damage, rebirth the dead, burn the memories, dissolve hell itself, and make Mello appear at his side once more.
"Did I ever tell you I'm the one who shot Kira?"
"Only twice. I started hitting you after that."
"Oh, that's right. I think I still have one of the bruises, actually!"
"Would you like another?"
"Umm. No."
"It bothers me that you had to think about that," R comments.
"It bothers me that we have no idea who Arcy is," N adds. "But please, don't let me interrupt your conversation with unimportant matters."
R winces.
"Sorry, baby."
"It's just, there aren't any real leads," she says, sounding a little defeated. "There's an international database of police information in the UK. It's feasible that anyone could have tapped it, and found our location."
"But this person would have to have been in London and then in Aberdeen successively," L says. "Are there any police officers with those exact movements?"
N winces.
"Surprisingly, lots. Twenty-one. A cadetship rotation moved from one to the other at exactly that time. They were broken into smaller groups amongst individual stations, but we'd be stupid to presume that Arcy himself went to the stations closest to our hotels. He's already proved he's no fool."
"But he has proved he wants to be noticed," L reminds her.
"Noticed by a genius, L, if your theory is correct," R says worriedly. "If this really is about you, then Arcy's certainly done a good job of giving you the run-around. He'll leave cryptic clues. He's not going to spell it out for you."
"Another question is this," L says, sticking two fingers inside his bottom lip and staring at the roof. "What does Arcy want from me? Am I going to be the final death? The last number two? Arcy proving he's better than even me?"
"I'll try not to cheer for him too loudly," Rae says, but it sounds distracted. It's been hovering over N's computer, apparently interested in the profiles of the twenty-one cadets.
"Arcy isn't better than you," R says fiercely. "You'd better remember that. We're all counting on you to outsmart him, L."
"Yes, of course," L says, tritely. "I was merely being hypothetical. I already told you, I'm not in any danger right now."
"England, Scotland. Who's next, Ireland or Wales?" T wonders, the most relevant words out of his mouth all day. "And is he working his way around the world, or just the United Kingdom?"
"Although it's impossible to say for certain at this stage, I'd say Arcy's probably planned to stop killing soon," L informs them, calmly.
T turns to stare at him, wide-eyed.
"How do you know?"
"Because we're going to catch him soon," L says. "And I'm fairly certain that's how he plans to meet me, whatever he intends to do after that."
"Hang on! A moment ago you said you weren't in any danger. Now you're saying that Arcy intends to get to you when you catch him," R snaps.
L stares at him evenly.
"I think you need to be less emotionally invested in my safety," he says, calmly. "Accept that I'm careful, and move on."
R looks like he wants to say more, but N elbows him in the side.
He knows what they're thinking. They're doubtful. He's fallible.
Well, that's okay. He might not be a legend. He might not be anyone's hero. That doesn't matter. He's a good fucking detective, the best there is, and nothing else matters. He'll solve cases and lock criminals away and win, and win, and win.
And when he dies, well, then he'll have lost twice. He can't be a flimsy sleuth because he's frightened of death; that would be pointless.
The intercom buzzes.
"What is it, Watari?" M asks, beating him to it.
"Jimi's on the line, L."
"Put her through," L tells him, motioning for R to take up his position at the communication computer.
Jimi Davitt is a rocket scientist and physicist. Twenty-eight, but looks a lot younger. She's widely considered to be the most intelligent person in Ireland. L offered both Jimi and Mark Cunnick – a genius Welsh surgeon – rooms in local, specially-reinforced hotels. Places where they'd be protected from Arcy with round-the-clock monitoring. So far, only Cunnick has taken them up on the offer.
"Chief Detective Meibush?" she asks, and her voice trembles a little. Her parents were both Korean, and she looks tiny and fragile, even magnified on the big screen.
"I'm here," R says, flashing his fake ID at the screen. "Have you given any thought to my offer?"
She fidgets with her clothes. She's nervous, not like the others. L gets the impression she doesn't have to deal with people very often.
"You…you say this Arcy might try to murder me?" she asks, voice accented and soft, trembling.
"We believe you may be at risk," R clarifies, gently. "Only those of the highest intellect have been targeted."
"I'm….I'm flattered, really," she says. She keeps looking down, away from the screen. "But I don't even know if I'm on the same level as Ricketts and McWhirter."
"We believe you are," R tells her. "Arcy is a dangerous criminal. It would be best for you to relocate until he is caught."
She looks at the screen then, sharply.
"If I move, will it help you catch him?"
R blinks.
"What?"
"Will you use my empty house to trap him? Will he follow my movement so you can draw him out, Detective?"
"I….no. The point is your own safety. Our investigation is a separate matter."
She shakes her head slowly, her hair falling into her eyes.
"Then…I decline."
R leans forward.
"What? Miss Davitt, I urge you to reconsider, you-"
"No!" she says, and her voice is unexpectedly harsh. "No. I won't run away. If Arcy's coming, then he's coming, but I won't be a coward and run."
R grits his teeth.
"But Miss-"
"If my lord god has sent a murderer to test my faith, then I accept that test," she tells him, her eyes shiny with tears. "I am not frightened."
"I see," R says, defeated. "Please don't hesitate to contact us if you are ever concerned. I'll keep you updated on any developments that might put you at increased risk."
"Thank you," she says, and Watari terminates the connection.
L rubs his chin.
Ah, yes. Rocket scientist, genius, and devout Catholic. Won't work on Sundays, abhors the theory of evolution, and donates fifty percent of her earnings to the church.
L had wondered whether she'd accept their help. Now he knows.
"Dammit," R says darkly. "What if it's her? What if Arcy's targeting Ireland next?"
"We can only wait and see," N says, touching the back of his head. "And investigate these cadets; try to find out if any of them might be connected to Arcy. We'll get there."
"Yes, that's right," L muses. "We have other things to focus on."
There's no saving people who won't even save themselves.
Approximately five minutes later, Rae rushes over to him, crowing.
"So, have you discovered Arcy's identity yet, L? Because I have."
"Mmm?" L says, noncommittal. He's been trying to remain carefully neutral when dealing with the Shinigami. He doesn't want to influence its decisions too much, one way or another.
It flicks a bony thumb towards N's computer.
"See for yourself."
L gets up and moves over to stand behind N, more to advance the conversation than anything else. He can't talk back, of course, not with everyone else still in the room.
"There's not a lot to go on," N tells him, clearly frustrated. "I've been able to rule out one cadet who's been in hospital for the past week, but that's it."
L scans the list of names and photos. He's already seventy-four percent certain he knows what he'll see.
There.
Ellen Patricks.
Thirty-two, from Belfast, curly hair. A mole on the left corner of her upper lip. Four foot eleven.
"Ellen," he mutters. The girl Wedy had mentioned had been called Ellen. And of course, she'd have the Irish accent that M extrapolated from the first phone call. Hardly enough for an arrest, however.
"Huh?" N asks, surprised. "Is it her?"
"Absolutely," Rae says, as if it's forgotten she can't hear it. "It must be. She matches Wedy's physical description as well as having the northern accent."
Always jumping to conclusions, L says. For a second, he entertains the idea that maybe some of the things Rae says are actually truthful. It sounds excited, like it actually thinks this is important.
Hm.
"I'm not sure," he tells both of them.
"Ellen?" T asks. "Wait, isn't that the girl Wedy warned us about?"
"Wedy?" R asks sharply. "The thief? What?"
L knows R despises the fact that they occasionally have to liaise with known criminals.
"Never mind about that now," L says. "R, would it be possible for someone with access to police records to link Wedy to us?"
"Well - "
"They wouldn't need access," M interrupts. "It was made common knowledge that Wedy was working on the Kira case after she died. Anyone who's more recently dead would have known. The only difficult part would be recognising her."
"Of course," L says.
"What did she tell Ellen?" R demanded.
L turns to stare at him, expression stony.
"She told Ellen nothing," he says, darkly. "As would anyone else I've chosen to personally associate with. If you have any queries about my judgement, please bring them up at a more appropriate time, Raye."
R's mouth snaps shut, and L tries not to dwell on the fact that he only calls any of them by their first names when he's angry with them.
Not that he should ever be angry with them. He's not supposed to feel anything. He's supposed to be invincible.
"In any case," Rae muses, "you're probably going to need Wedy. It would much safer to send her out to the East Galway station than any of your team, because Ellen already knows what she looks like, and can't use her to get to you."
Exactly what I was thinking.
What are you planning, Shinigami?
"Matsuda, bring me your jacket. The one you were wearing when we went to see McWhirter. I know you haven't washed it yet."
T blinks at him.
"Oh…er…right."
T comes back a moment later with said item of clothing dangling over his arm.
"Er, why do you need this? You're not going to destroy it, are you? It's my favourite."
"You sound like -" M says, and then snaps his mouth shut angrily. L wishes he wouldn't slip up so often.
"Of course not," he tells T. "Until we know how well Arcy can hack computers, we should presume he or she may also be able to hack phone lines, and therefore contacting Wedy through established channels is also risky."
"Is my jacket going to help with this?" T asks, doubtfully.
"Yes," L says calmly, fishing into the left pocket and pulling out a cell phone. It's tiny and mauve, the sort that snaps shut. He opens it and quickly scans through the main menu. There's only one number programmed in, nothing else has been altered from the factory settings.
"Uh," T says. "I've never seen that before in my life."
L presses the dial button and waits.
"I have no idea what's going on," R admits, still sounding irritated.
"Hallo?"
"Wedy."
L puts her on speaker and throws the phone onto the couch.
"It's you," she says. She sounds disappointed.
"I need you to tail Ellen for me," he says, without preamble. "Her last name is Patricks. She's with the police cadets."
"They're boarding at the Maxwell hotel on Kent St, Glasgow," N adds.
"What do you want?"
"Taps. Audio and visual. In her room, in her workplace, in her car, on her if you can manage it. If you agree, I'll send Watari out with the necessary equipment."
"With a girl like that, this may even be challenging. I like it," she tells him. "How much?"
"We pay her?" R sputters.
"Would you prefer we did each other favours, instead?" L asks. "It's better to keep things professional."
"She's a thief."
"I was a thief when I was alive, too," Wedy sasses. "That didn't land me in hell. Therefore, I deduce that what I'm doing is moral, if not legal."
"I deduce you're really fucking lucky," M snaps, voice dripping with disgust. "And I wouldn't push it."
"The usual rate," L says. "Five for twenty-four hours."
"Done," Wedy says. "If you give the phone back."
L sighs.
"Of course. But if you start making trouble within my team, I'll be forced to cut you off. You are aware of that, yes? What you're trying to do right now is fairly inappropriate."
"Send Watari," she says sweetly. "Take care, honey."
Click.
"Okay," L surmises quietly. "We have surveillance. Davitt is a no-go. How is Cunnings?"
"Uh, L?"
"Fine," M says. "The cameras show everything, no blind spots. He's sitting reading a newspaper right now. Fascinating stuff."
"L?"
L touches his chin.
"I think we need to bide our time on this one," he says. "It's Arcy's turn to make a move."
"What? But he's out-manipulated you at every turn," Rae says, waving its long arms around. "Now you're just going to sit back and let him do whatever he wants?"
"We don't necessarily want to stop Arcy from getting what he wants."
"Or she," N interjects.
"L, uhhh. L?"
"Quite. Arcy wants to meet us. Or, more accurately, me. Which is a perfect opportunity to arrest him or her."
"But how many people are going to die between now and then?" Rae asks. "You know her name, now. And you've got a face. That's all you need. It would be easy. You could save Davitt. You could save everyone."
"…L?"
"And what if Arcy murders you, too? How utterly ridiculous would that be?"
Yes, L thinks. You'd be disappointed if I died, wouldn't you. You would never get the chance to prove you could break me.
Of course, you'll never get that chance anyway.
"L!"
"What, Matsuda?"
T touches the back of his head and smiles nervously.
"Um, what just happened? Why did I have that phone in my pocket to start with?" he says in a rush.
"Because she put it there when you were banging your head on the table in the café," L says. "I saw her do it."
T stares at him with a dumbfounded sort of expression, then snaps his fingers.
"Oh right, I get it. So she knew, even before we did, that this Ellen girl was dangerous and that we might need a safe way to contact her. Wow! She's so smart."
And then he sighs.
"Not that it matter, right? Because I'm just a loser."
"Yup," M deadpans.
R shoots L a significant look.
"She gave him a phone," he asks quietly.
"It's okay," L replies, equally softly. A stronger connection with someone like Wedy wouldn't hurt his team. "And besides, he hasn't even noticed yet."
"What are you two whispering about?" T asks curiously.
"Nothing," R tells him. "Listen to me, Matsuda. You need to be sensible about things, okay? Every decision you make. You need to always think of the good of the L squad."
Sometimes L hates that name.
"Of course," T says brightly. "Can I have my jacket back, now?"
"You can have the phone, too," L says, grudgingly. "Let me know if Wedy leaves any messages for me."
"Really? I'm the point of contact? Awesome! I'll be sensible! I'll definitely be sensible!"
"This is all so pathetic," the Shinigami says nastily.
And for once, L has to agree with it.
They get news of the next fire that evening, just after six. A field east of Galway.
"Ireland," R says bitterly. "And close to where Davitt lives."
"And close to the police station where Ellen Patricks is," N adds.
"So Davitt's next," M comments.
"You don't have to sound so blasé about it!" R says brusquely.
"Hey, she made her decision. Not our fault."
"We ought to still try and protect her if we can," L says. "But obviously, we only have so many resources."
The intercom crackles.
"L."
"Watari. What is it?"
"Reports are that the blaze was much more controlled than previous fires, to the extent that the arsonist had smeared the surrounding ground with water-based gel so that the fire wouldn't spread beyond a certain point."
"Why?"
"I think it's fairly obvious when you see the shape of the scorch marks," Watari says. "I'm sending footage right now. It's very intricate, and would have taken hours to set up."
"And no trace of Arcy?"
"None."
As expected, then. The video file arrives promptly, and L opens it.
"Oh my," Rae says.
"Oh my god," N says.
L takes a sweet from the dish beside him and shoves it into his mouth.
The handiwork isn't perfect, but then no human could possibly burn nine three-foot-high letters onto a field of native grass without some minor flaws and mistakes. It's legible, though. It's definitely legible, even before the last of the fire is extinguished. The ominous message spelled out in scorch marks across the ground.
L, look down.
L drops his gaze immediately.
Bare feet.
Chair legs.
Carpet.
Nothing unusual at all.
"Well, I feel stupid now," T comments. "There's nothing down here."
"Maybe it's not up here," M mutters. He pulls the collar of his coat up over his mouth and rushes over to the nearest window, shoving it open.
"Nothing on this side," he reports.
"T, R, N, check the other sides of the building," L commands. "Keep your faces covered, all of you. Look outside before you open windows."
The chances of Arcy actually having located him are only seven percent. But it isn't like Arcy to send a cryptic message that doesn't lead anywhere.
"This is different," he says softly. "This isn't his usual pattern. Rae?"
"Yes?"
"Will you go outside and take a look around for me?"
"Hmm. Will you write a name in the death note for me?"
"You already know the answer to that," L says boredly.
"Then you know my answer. Do your own damn job, detective."
"I see. You always disappoint me when you're predictable, Rae."
Arcy, on the other hand, he'd prefer to be a little more predictable.
Look at me, look at me.
"There's nothing at ground level," N reports back to him. "We've checked all sides of the building. There haven't been any more news reports?"
"Not yet," L says.
"Look down," R mutters. "Why 'look down'? And why send a message like this?"
"Doesn't this mean one of the officers involved in the bogus broadcast must be corrupt?" N asks. "Arcy must know you're still here if she's done something like this."
"Not necessarily," L tells her. "A message like this ought to make international news. In fact, Arcy will be suspicious if it doesn't. Please inform the local newsgroups that they are at liberty to publish it in any way they see fit."
"Reaching out to you while you're in France?"
"I believe so. It's possible things have changed because Arcy wants me to return. He or she has abandoned the subtlety of their earlier clues to leave something like this, trying to draw me back in."
He stretches his arms over his head.
"N, I want you to contact every local station except East Galway. Tell them to keep a close eye on Davitt."
L folds himself into his favourite chair and rests his hands on his knees.
"It's still their move, I'm afraid," he tells his team. "There's nothing to be seen yet."
Look down.
L stays in his chair for the rest of the night, and well into the morning, monitoring screens showing about twenty different news channels, local and international.
If Arcy thinks he's in France, chances are whatever it is will happen there. But if that's true, then Arcy must think he knows where L is in France, which doesn't make any sense, because he never set up any sort of decoy there.
That's presuming a very simple meaning for the phrase 'look down', however.
Everything else Arcy has done has been a reference to the map. If you extrapolate that, then Arcy could be referring to anywhere below France. Marseille, maybe, or Spain, Algeria, Mali, Nigeria. A whole host of countries.
"So, you've decided he's going to make his move south of France?" Rae asks, appearing beside him.
"Maybe. The thing is, if that's true, then Arcy is one hundred percent certain we're in France. And yet, I doubt he's stupid enough to just believe the news broadcast. But there's also no reason to believe Arcy knows we're still here, or where exactly in the United Kingdom we are. So why so confident in 'look down'?"
Rae leans its bony elbows on his desk.
"Well, of course, there isn't, unless you're referring to colloquialisms," the Shinigami rasps smugly. "But there is always one place that's reliably referred to as 'down', for which Arcy wouldn't need to be certain about your present location."
L stares. Of course. He's been so busy stepping back to see what Rae would do, he's missed it.
"Australia."
"Yeah, Australia. You know, the place where they just had half a city set on fire ten minutes ago? Not that I'd expect you to know that. You're only a detective, after all."
"L! L! There's been a massive fire in the Northern Territory of Australia!" T yells, bursting through the doors."
"I know."
"They evacuated all the buildings first – someone went around and hit all the fire alarms and then torched the place!"
"I know."
"Actually, they used a firebomb," M says in a comparatively normal voice, wandering in behind T. "It's really not Arcy's usual style, and it's a long way away."
"It's Arcy," L says. "T, please contact Wedy."
"Uh…me?"
"Just a moment ago you were raving about the latest fire. Please don't act as if you no longer think it's important."
"Right."
L looks at M, even though he hates looking at protégé number three. M's wearing eyeliner, presumably to cover up his own excessive bags, and his hair is past his chin now. His shirt has slipped, and L can see ink - the top of the capital letter 'K' - just under his collarbone.
"The name of the affected city is Darwin," he says carefully. "That means Arcy has selected Davitt as his next victim."
"You want us to try and get to Davitt first?" he asks, voice still deadpan, like he doesn't really care. He doesn't question L's reasoning, and L's pretty certain he's worked it out for himself.
The father of evolution condemns the creationist. That definitely sounds like Arcy's kind of reasoning.
"I am eighty-two percent certain we will already be too late," L says. "But please, try and contact her."
He doubts Arcy will have gone to Australia in person. He or she has probably hired a few criminals to make sure the job got done. Hence the change in technique.
"Hey, gorgeous," Wedy's voice crackles over the speakerphone.
T stares at L with wide eyes.
"I think she's talking to you."
I doubt it.
"What have you got for me, Wedy?" L asks.
"So far, I haven't been able to locate Patricks."
"What?" T asks. "But you should have made it to the police station yesterday!"
"Why the hold up?" M asks. "Don't tell me you couldn't break into the place."
"You insult me, kid," she says loftily. "I got in easily. She's not here. Called in sick for the Galway rotation because her mother's had a stroke, and is in hospital. Only thing is, her mother definitely isn't in the hospital they had on file, or any of the others in that area. In fact, her mother seems to be alive and healthy in her home in Belfast. Ellen split off from the group when they left Aberdeen, so I've been trying to track down which way she went."
"Shit," M says conversationally.
"It's her?" Wedy asks.
"I'm cancelling your services," L informs her. "We've got things to do."
He hangs up the phone and tosses it at Matsuda.
"Davitt's not picking up," M says, unnecessarily. "I've tried her home, her mobile, and all of her work lines. But she's not always contactable."
"That's fine. Keep trying until I tell you to stop."
"Okey-dokey."
"T, get me the others," L says. "And then ask Watari to transfer every single communication system we have to this laptop."
"We're going somewhere?"
L opens up a new web page. There's only one sort of place that Arcy would choose for Davitt. All he needs is the location.
"Yes, most of us. All but one of us is going to Galway. A museum. I'll tell you which one in a moment. Arcy will probably try and make contact soon. The only interesting thing will be to see which police station she chooses."
She won't wait until after the murder this time. She sent a note, she wants their attention. She'll send another before its all over.
"Right," T says, and rushes off.
L rubs the back of his head. He'll be relieved to finally bring this to a close.
Raye Penber isn't happy. He's often not happy - working with L is difficult at the best of times, and heart-wrenching at the worst – but he hates this most of all, this rushing and not knowing whether he'll arrive in time to save the victim, or just report the murder.
Sometimes, he really doesn't like L.
"Can you read me the email again, M?" he asks. It's clear that Arcy – Ellen – didn't know where they were. She sent a mass email to all the police stations in London, Aberdeenshire, Galway, and Paris, and a handful of others as well.
That means she won't know what time to expect you, L had said, when they'd first received it. She won't be running to a schedule, she'll be prompted by your arrival.
Of course. They could have worked that one out for themselves.
"Sure. 'L, did you spot my handiwork down under? We'll be waiting for you, with the wizard and his heathen taxidermy. Better rush if you like your meat rare.'"
"It still disgusts me," N says, shaking. "This woman is disgusting. How could you do this to someone?"
She's still so beautiful, even ruffled and sleep-deprived, and disgusted. The shining thing in his world. He takes his hand off the gear stick and places it over hers. The flight was relatively fast, but they're all still a little exhausted.
"It'll be all right, baby."
The museum near Merlin Park. She's waiting for them there. R worked it out from the email, he even managed to get in and say it before L could explain it to them.
Sometimes, he's childish and petty. He figures he's allowed to be. L is childish all the time, after all.
"Does anyone understand why he's not coming along for this mission?" T asks from the back seat.
Speaking of childish.
"Because that's what she wants," R tells him. "We're not going to give her the real L."
"Oh."
T stares out the window for a few minutes, then says.
"How come I never get to be L?"
"Because you're a retard," M says succinctly.
And although N yells at him, R's pretty sure he couldn't have put it any better himself.
Davitt's different to the others. She doesn't whine or scream or cry. She doesn't even struggle. She just sits there, wide-eyed and wordless. She keeps shooting Ellen these frightened looks, like she's important. Like this whole thing is because she's an oh-so-special genius.
Except she's not. There's only one genius in this game – in this world – and he's coming to see her right now. She's so excited, she can hardly keep her hands still as she splashes the igniter fluid around the room.
It's all she's wanted, all her life. Ever since she was seventeen and kidnapped, back in the first world, and then they'd saved her and they'd told her it was him.
And now she is here. And he is here. And it's all so very perfect.
Drip, drip, drip. The fluid coats the ancient bones of a dinosaur fossil, and makes patterns across the floor.
They don't understand her. They don't understand what its like to want to see someone so badly when they always hide. He should have just answered her letters, the ones she's been sending to police all her life.
I bet they never even forwarded them, she thinks viciously, and she turns around and throws the oil right in Davitt's face.
"How do you like that, clever girl?" she asks softly. "Are you going to reason your way out of this one? Maybe you can build a rocket with your hands tied behind your back?"
Davitt starts to cry, big fat tears rolling off her cheeks. Pathetic and still impossibly silent.
Ellen's wearing a balaclava, but it's mostly for show. When he comes, she'll show him her face. She'll do anything for him. He must realise how clever and devoted she is by now. All these people, all these imposters calling themselves the best.
How dare they.
"Look," she says, smiling sweetly. "There's the chart about the mososaurus, the ancestor of modern snakes and lizards. It's a funny thing, isn't it? Evolution. The weak perish. Oh, but where's the god that loves you, now?"
There's the faint hush of a car pulling up outside the building. Ellen presses her finger to her lips and smiles. So he was still in the United Kingdom, after all. Probably not local, though. She wonders if he ever left England. It doesn't matter now.
He's here.
There's no proof L's not a woman, of course. But she isn't choosey, not when it comes to her hero. She'll be happy with him either way.
Now she can hear footsteps. At least…three of them. No, four. One of them is wearing high heels. She sighs.
So he's brought others. Unsurprising, but still disappointing. She would have liked it to be just the two of them.
Can't be helped now. Davitt will give her some bargaining power with anyone else that arrives. L, of course, will be furious at Davitt for claiming to be the best. He must be so happy she's getting rid of the wannabes.
Knock, knock, knock.
She holds her breath.
It's you! After so long.
"Come in," she calls, and her voice shakes a little. She yanks off her balaclava, her curly hair falling around her face.
My L.
The giant wooden doors open, almost in slow motion. The click of heels on the polished floor is overpoweringly loud, like gunshot, but the sound stops suddenly. They're still in the atrium area. They have to step through the next doorway to see her.
She can barely hear anything else over the sound of her own heart, roaring inside her head. She see's his shadow before she sees the rest of him. He's taller than she expected. But she's glad. It would be so disappointing if he'd turned out the way she imagined. She wants him to be totally different, something else, beyond what even she could possibly dream of.
The man that comes in is younger than her, near-tranlucent skin, dead eyes. He's got floppy hair, a strange brown that's almost green, and he's wearing a trenchcoat and boots. He's got bags under his eyes the size of potatoes, and he has the sort of expression that indicates he's tired of the world and everything in it.
"I am L," he says. His voice is nasal and unconcerned.
"Oh," she says, still unable to breathe. "Oh. You are perfect."
He folds his arms across his chest. They're so skinny she can see the tendons play and pull when he moves.
Oh, you work so hard, I bet you don't have time to eat or exercise. Not with that magnificent brain.
"What are you doing?" he asks. She tries to catalogue every nuance of his voice, remember it for later. How many people in the world have seen his face? Ten? Two? None? And yet here she is, with him. She's met L. Actually met him.
Davitt chooses that moment to start wriggling and whining, straining uselessly against her binds.
"Shut up!" Ellen snaps. "He's not here for you."
L says nothing, which she takes as an affirmation.
"I knew you'd find me," she tells him excitedly. "I knew it would be the third person. I started out wide, made it so it could have almost been an accident. I knew you'd be intrigued. Tell, me, when did you figure out it was me?"
He stares right through her.
"You're a serial killer," he says flatly.
"I'm yours," she corrects. "I'm the only one who understands you. I'm your number one fan!"
"You're a crazy serial killer, then," he amends.
She tilts her head to the left.
Is this some sort of test? Some sort of game?
He can't honestly think I'm just a crazy serial killer. No. He's brilliant, he must understand how much I love him. How good I'll be for him. What we can do, together.
She smiles wider and splashes Davitt again.
"I knew you'd found me when I saw that blonde woman again. You know, you really should keep better company. She's smart, but she's nothing compared to you."
But she hadn't claimed to be better than him, so she'd been allowed to live. Let it never be said that Ellen Patricks isn't fair.
"She's a part of my team," he says, his voice picking up some harsh tones. "And therefore entitled to my protection."
"You're noble, too. I like that. I've been noble, see? I've been defending your honour."
He snorts, like he's laughing at her.
He's pretending. He's gotta be pretending.
"By murdering innocent people who had nothing to do with me?"
"It was what I had to do," she explains earnestly. "Just to be near you. You never would have noticed me, otherwise. You'd have missed out, too. You'd never have known how helpful I could be."
"If you'd stuck to your job and become a good police officer, I would have noticed you," he counters. "I notice everyone, sooner or later."
Of course he does. Of course. But he's countering all of her moves. He's testing her, he must be. Time to raise the level of this game, then.
"So all of these fires, all of these deaths, they were just a tool to meet me?" he asks.
"Yes!"
Thank goodness, he's starting to understand.
"So you don't intend to kill me?"
The colour drains from her face.
How could my L be so mistaken?
"No! Never. I want to work with you. I want to help you help other people. I want to be your right-hand woman."
He touches his hair, unconsciously.
"Well, maybe we can talk about that," he says, after a moment.
Relief washes through her. Of course. He would never have let her down.
"Yes, please," she says, trying not to appear too ridiculously happy. She wants his respect, after all.
"I have a car waiting," he says. "Come with me. We can discuss the terms of your employment."
"Of course."
She'll go anywhere with him.
"All I need you to do is give me that lighter," he continues. "The one in your pocket."
She hesitates, and her gaze is drawn back to the wriggling Davitt. Well, there's no way she can leave the scum still alive. L wouldn't want that, either. She grabs the lighter, and holds it out in front of her, thumb on the button.
"One moment," she says, grinning.
"No!" he says, voice suddenly sharp and ugly. "Don't you dare press that! Drop the lighter. Step away from her."
"But baby," she says, confidently. "She tried to outdo you. She needs to die. Just one moment, and I'll be right with y-"
Crack.
Another man has appeared around the doorway, crouching, gun in his hand. For a second, she wonders if he's going to shoot Davitt for her. Efficient, but lacking in style.
And then the pain explodes through her chest, rips up her arms and down her legs. And she sees the blood. So much blood. Hers.
I don't understand, my love. Is this a test too?
And then everything fades to black.
"Well done, M," L says quietly.
"No problem," M replies. Typical. He's totally unconcerned by the fact that someone was just shot in the heart standing right in front of him. His own death meant nothing to him, obviously.
On the screen, he sees R rush to Davitt and rip off her gag and blindfold.
"Detective Meibush?" she asks, terrified and grateful at once. He pulls her into a hug as T struggles to cut through the rest of the bindings.
"You...I don't believe you just did that," Rae says, and it sounds genuinely shocked. "You just ordered Raye Penber - your own soldier - to kill someone."
"Yes, that's correct," he says calmly. "It was necessary in order to protect Davitt. Patricks had every opportunity to come quietly."
"So it's okay?"
"What's okay?"
"That you killed her? It's okay, because she was a criminal about to commit a crime that would have hurt someone else?"
L knows exactly where the conversation is going, but it isn't like he has better things to do right now.
"Yes. We acted in the same way any police squadron would have acted. Patricks' behaviour would have landed her in this position no matter what we'd done."
Rae folds and unfolds its wings. The soft noise of metal rushing over metal sounds dangerous, like someone flicking open a switchblade repeatedly. It's clearly agitated. L smiles to himself.
Point for -
"So, shooting through the heart is an ethical death, but a heart attack isn't? Is that right? Is that honestly what it boils down to?"
"I wasn't absolutely certain she was guilty until M made contact with her," he explains. "Of course, it would have been desirable to take her into custody and give her a fair trial, but she choose not to cooperate. When she pulled out that lighter and stated her intention to use it, I had no better option."
"I see," Rae says, sounding suddenly both pleased and predatory. "So, by your own admission, you could have written Patricks' name in the death note in the same second you gave the kill command, and that would have been equally acceptable?"
"No, that would have been highly suspicious," L says, beginning to stack sugar cubes into his tea mug. "If criminals started dropping dead as soon as I was convinced of their guilt, I imagine the others would have me locked up for being the third Kira in under a month."
"But you could do it once," the Shinigami says brightly. "Say, when its really important that they die immediately. When lots of lives are at stake. When you can't just trust Penber's good aim."
"Of course I could," L replies, a little crossly. "I could use it at any second, as I'm constantly reminded. But the death note is a moral sink, and I will not be corrupted."
"You're not making sense," Rae spits. "You're full of excuses, but when it comes down to it, you've got no good reason. You're just a coward, Lawliet."
L shakes his head.
"I just told you-"
"All this talk of morality and not being corrupted, and you're already corrupted. You're deliberately avoiding the best, and safest way to bring justice to the people who trust you because you're weak."
L spins slowly in his chair until he's face-to-face with the Shinigami.
"I'm weak?" he asks, curiously.
"You won't use the death note because you're worried you won't be able to handle that much power," it says knowingly. "You think that as soon as you put a pen to that paper you're going to go crazy and power-hungry and destroy everything. You know you're weak."
L blinks.
"I am not," he says, calmly, but it's bothering him. He isn't weak. He's right. He knows he's right.
Damn Shinigami.
"You are!" it roars, accusingly. "The L of legends, the one everyone believes in, the hero of the developed world, is a lie. You're a loser, you're pathetic, and you're empty inside! McWhirter didn't need to die. There are thousands of people who've suffered unspeakable things over the past five months that you could have saved, if only you'd been even the tiniest bit strong!"
L sits absolutely still, the words washing over him, over and over. The Shinigami stands rooted to the spot, panting. Or whatever the approximation of panting is for something that has fire instead of lungs.
A minute ticks by, slowly and painfully, before either of them speak.
"I see," l says softly. "I see. You are questioning my strength."
"I'm questioning you," the Shinigami spits, darkly.
L ambles over to the window, mentally organising what he wishes to say.
"First and foremost," he says thoughtfully. "My own cowardice. At my last calculation, I deduced I was twenty-four percent likely to be a coward. However, that was three weeks ago, so it's entirely possible that that figure is no longer completely precise."
Rae stares at him, expression unreadable, red eyes burning.
"I certainly value my own life," L says. "I know I am childish, and hate to lose. I suppose in certain circumstances, that would mean I was guaranteed to behave in a cowardly manner. Yes, you are correct. However."
And he turns around to face the god of death once more.
"However, I do not believe that my behaviour regarding the death note is one of cowardice."
"Yeah, right -"
"Let me say my piece," L says sharply. "I let you say yours, after all."
An eye for an eye.
"Fine," it rasps.
"My problem with the note is not - as you suspect - that it kills people."
Rae doesn't respond. It seems to be trying to stare right through him. Perhaps it can.
"It is how easily it kills people," L clarifies. "Bringing death to another person should never be easy. Wars would never happen if the person ordering one platoon to slaughter another stood right there on the battlefield when they made that call. It should never be impersonal. I watched Patricks die. I heard her final scream. I saw her bleed. I watched the light fade from her eyes. And I knew, when all of this was happening, that I myself had caused it. I had to live with that fact. Still have to."
"That's a lovely speech. How long have you been rehearsing it for?"
"Listen," L commands. "You'll have a whole four and a half years to mock me later, if you wish."
"I'll do anything I want, whenever I want," Rae corrects him, pettily.
"Yes," L says. "I suppose that's true. Tell me something, Shinigami. As heir to the king, you must have travelled a lot, yes? You must have seen many humans, both alive and dead."
"Of course," Rae says, sounding suspicious.
"Do you ever remember their names?"
"They're rarely important."
"Of course," L agrees. "I imagine it would be. I suspect you already know the circumstances of my death, but I'll tell you, anway. I was killed by a man called Light Yagami. Have you ever seen anyone by that name?"
The Shinigami is silent for a moment, apparently thinking.
"It doesn't ring any bells?" it admits, but it sounds slightly...unnerved.
So, even the Shinigami are frightened of Light, he thinks, amused.
"He was given a death note by another Shinigami," L explains. "The first human to acquire one in hundreds of years, if I believe correctly. But that's irrelevant. My point is, he was destroyed by the power of the death note."
"Destroyed?" Rae asks. "I think I must have heard a story different to the one you're telling. I thought he used that power to control the world, at least for a little while."
L shakes his head.
"A human should never wield so much power," he corrects. "That is the worst way to kill someone, to give them power and watch them slowly destroy themselves. Making good people do terrible things is easy, because they are already so motivated. You only need to convince them that the terrible thing will have a good result."
He stares at the Shinigami, scrutinising.
"Your kind brings more trouble than you know, and not in the way you expect," he pronounces. "That man wanted to be a police officer, once. Aspired to do good, and to do it the right way. And then a god of death decided to involve him in a little social experiment, and he became a psychopath, torn apart, probably within a number of days."
"This really isn't the story I heard," Rae interrupts. For a moment, the colour in its eyes seems to dull. A trick of the light, of the flames tearing up its chest. When L blinks, they're apple-red and awful again.
Sleep. He needs sleep.
"Of course it wasn't," he says, tiredly. "You were told the story by Ryuk, no? I imagine he thought the whole thing was very funny."
"More or less," Rae admits, grinning nastily.
"But you pretend to be interested in my own desires and values, so I am telling you," L says quietly. "There are not so many differences between myself and the man who became Kira. I will not use the death note - no matter what, not even in someone's dying moment - because death should always be difficult. To kill once should make you less likely to kill again. Do you understand?"
"No. I think you're crazy," Rae says, without missing a beat.
"There are worse things to be," L says, with a shrug.
Much, much worse things to be.
"So what? This is it? You're point-blank never going to use the death note no matter what?"
"You don't need to be a genius to work that out," L says. There's cake on the table. He thinks it might be strawberry, but he should definitely find out for certain.
"Fine," the Shinigami snaps. "Cowardly, weak, crazy, and selfish."
"And you can call me L," L says with a smile. "By the way, I ought to thank you for your help with this case. You were...valuable."
Rae stares at him, absolutely expressionless.
"Whatever," it says, after a pause.
Yes, whatever, L thinks. The cake is strawberry and apple, and delicious in every possible way. Your move, Shinigami.
tbc