An hour after Director Odagiri Toshio made the call, Tsukiko arrived at the Metropolitan Police Department, accompanied by the man who held the key piece of evidence.
"Mr. Tsukiko, thank you for coming on such short notice," Odagiri said, descending the steps to greet them personally. It was a gesture meant to convey both the gravity of the situation and his gratitude.
"Of course, Director," Tsukiko replied with a polite nod. "My family has ties to law enforcement; I'm happy to help in any way I can." He gestured to the nervous young man beside him. "This is Matsushita. He was filming a documentary on Fujiwara and Saionji, but he never expected it to end like this. Now that they're gone… well, if there are any clues to be found, we have to find them. We owe them the truth." He gave the young man an encouraging look. "Matsushita, please give the tape to the Director."
"Ah, yes." The young man fumbled with the bag on his back, unzipping it and carefully pulling out a digital video camera. He handed it to Odagiri Toshio with trembling hands. "This is it. I recorded everything that happened with Fujiwara and Saionji for three hours before the race was supposed to start."
Odagiri accepted the camera, his expression firm. "Thank you, Mr. Matsushita. Your cooperation is greatly appreciated."
"You're welcome," Matsushita mumbled, waving a hand dismissively.
"Is there anything else you need from us, Director?" Tsukiko asked.
"For now, no. But I must ask that you both keep this matter strictly confidential. Until the investigation yields results, this cannot get out to the public."
"We understand."
"Then you are free to go. Thank you again."
"Goodbye, Director."
After watching the two men depart, Odagiri Toshio turned and handed the camera to Inspector Megure, who had been waiting patiently.
"Megure, it's in your hands now. Report to me the second you find anything."
"Understood, sir!" Megure saluted sharply. Without the Director's direct intervention, finding Matsushita would have taken at least a day or two, precious time they didn't have.
Clutching the camera, Megure hurried back to the office of the Homicide Division. Gustave and Conan were already there, the air thick with anticipation.
Seeing the inspector return, Conan immediately rushed forward. "Did you get it, Inspector?"
Megure didn't answer with words. He simply held up the camera, a silent confirmation.
"Yes!" Conan pumped a fist in the air, his excitement barely contained. If they weren't in the middle of the Metropolitan Police Department, he might have done something far more embarrassing.
"Takagi, get the data from this onto the computer. Now!" Megure ordered, passing the camera to the younger officer.
"Right away!" Takagi took the camera and quickly connected it to a workstation. A moment later, an image flickered to life on the large monitor.
The video opened on a lively scene at Daikoku PA. A large crowd of racing enthusiasts milled about, smiles on every face as they chatted excitedly. The camera's owner, Matsushita, moved through the group, conducting personal interviews and asking for predictions on the upcoming race between Takuya Fujiwara and Hajime Saionji.
The first hour of the footage was uneventful, a simple time capsule of the vibrant atmosphere before the tragedy. Then, a sudden cheer erupted from the crowd on screen. The two main subjects of the documentary, Fujiwara and Saionji, were cheering along with everyone else, their eyes fixed on the entrance to the wharf. The camera panned to follow their gaze.
Suddenly, the screen was filled with a flash of brilliant silver. An Aston Martin Vanquish Zagato roared into frame at an incredible velocity, clearly breaking 200 kilometers per hour. Gustave winced slightly. He hadn't expected his grand finish to be immortalized on tape.
The Aston Martin bled speed as it crossed the finish line, executing a perfect, tire-smoking drift that sent another wave of cheers through the on-screen crowd. As the car came to a stop, the driver's door opened and Gustave stepped out, striking a casual pose. In the office, every eye turned from the screen to stare at him.
"Haha, just a bit of fun," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Don't take it so seriously."
A collective, unimpressed chuckle filled the room before their attention returned to the monitor. In the video, Takuya Fujiwara was the first to rush over and congratulate Gustave, the words exchanged matching what the police had already learned.
So far, nothing was out of the ordinary. The time stamp on the video continued to crawl forward, finally reaching one hour before Fujiwara and Saionji's scheduled race.
The camera focused on Saionji, who turned to someone just out of frame. "Hey, get me a bottle of water."
A man in the background, Tomokazu Yamashita, seemed to overhear. He quickly approached Saionji, a practiced, deferential smile on his face. "Master Saionji, I have some water right here. It's never been opened."
Saionji eyed Yamashita with a scrutinizing gaze, a flicker of suspicion in his eyes before he shrugged. "Fine. Bring it here."
Yamashita turned and briefly disappeared from view. When he returned, he was holding a standard plastic bottle of mineral water. "Here you are, Master Saionji." As he spoke, he twisted the cap and handed the open bottle over.
Saionji took it but paused before drinking. "What's in this, laxatives?" he joked dryly. "Trying to make sure your boss gets an easy win?"
Yamashita's smile didn't falter. "You know the Young Master, sir. He wouldn't accept a victory that wasn't earned fairly."
"True enough," Saionji chuckled, acknowledging his rival's sense of honor. "Fujiwara is that kind of guy." With that, he tilted his head back and began to drink.
The office was silent. Everyone leaned forward, their eyes glued to the screen. The footage had captured the moment Yamashita opened the bottle, but his hand had obscured the cap, making it impossible to see if he'd done anything to it.
After drinking about half the bottle, Saionji looked for a place to set it down.
"Allow me, Master Saionji," Yamashita offered, stepping forward once again.
"Alright." Saionji handed the half-empty bottle to him. Yamashita took it, then retrieved the plastic cap to reseal it.
"Takagi, right there," Megure commanded, his voice sharp. "Slow it down! And push the brightness to maximum!"
"Yes, Inspector!"
Following the orders, Takagi adjusted the playback controls. The video slowed to a crawl, the brightness washing out the colors. At the same time, he digitally zoomed in, enlarging the image of Yamashita's hand until it filled the screen.
Frame by agonizing frame, Yamashita's hand moved to reseal the bottle. Everyone held their breath.
"There! Stop!" Conan shouted.
Takagi's finger stabbed at the mouse, freezing the image. For a split second, as Yamashita's palm lifted away, a faint, vague mark was visible on the bottle cap.
"Takagi, zoom in again!" Megure ordered.
As Takagi magnified the image further, the pixelated mark sharpened, its shape becoming undeniably clear. It was a single, tiny number: "1".
"Yeah!"
"We've got it!"
The office erupted in thunderous cheers, the tense silence shattered by a wave of triumphant relief. They had found their crucial piece of evidence.
Gustave watched the celebration, a faint smile on his face. He hadn't expected it to be so simple. There were no twists, no dramatic reversals, no grand conspiracies. They had found a single clue, followed it logically, and uncovered the truth.
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