Chapter Text
“Kaitou Corbeau? Yeah, I’ve seen him. He stole the Starlight Gem from the hotel across the street a month ago. Very handsome man. I don’t know how he disappeared, but I hope they don’t catch him.”
“That annoying thief again? I’m tired of you fans asking over and over again, the police have real important jobs to do.”
“Even though he stole from me, I can’t really be mad. My stock has doubled since all the press the theft gave me. Unfortunately I don’t know anything about it, even the police is lost. Good luck finding him, I’ll give you a reward if you do.”
Another day, another dead end. Kaito balled the piece of paper in his hand and threw it in the closest recycler. He had been in Las Vegas for over a week, yet he had learned nothing new. His mission had started to feel hopeless. Years of investigation and he had thought that the re-appearance of Kaitou Corbeau might be the answer to his prayers. Last time had been 15 years ago in Tokyo, but the thief had gotten away and never seen hair of again.
The connection between this guy and Kaitou 1412 was too uncanny to not be a coincidence – unless it was simply a case of a copycatting fan. He refused to believe it for now – could not afford to disregard the possibility until he had the evidence contradicting it. Corbeau was currently his only lead, he needed to follow the threads.
“I see your search today was fruitless as well, Mr. Kuroba,” as he walked into his hotel, the receptionist met him with a warm smile. She was a tall woman – by Japanese standard anyhow, with her hair pulled back in a professional ponytail. Her makeup was sparse and made her look natural in her beauty.
“I am afraid so, Lucy-san,” he replied with an accent, nodding towards her in familiarity, but he continued on his track past the reception without stopping. He was too tired and hungry to start a conversation.
“Have you thought about hiring a professional?” she continued, seemingly not taking the hint. “There is a private investigator agency just around the street corner. They have an almost 100% success rate.”
He stopped and turned to look at her, he opened his mouth to tell her he wasn’t interested: however that was not what escaped his lips. “How do you know? Is it because they are selective of their clientele? Doesn’t seem like a fair model to brag about.” He had met a variety of different kinds of PIs who exaggerated their skills.
Lucy shook her head at his sceptic expression. “Not at all. I haven’t known Conan to decline anyone. He might be young, but he is wiser than most twice his age. He helped me find my mother’s lost wallet last year. I didn’t have much hope of finding the thief, but my mother had a wedding picture in it of grandma and grandfather that was of sentimental value. I thought it was hopeless, but he found it.”
She held out a business card with friendly expression. Kaito hesitated for a moment, however in the week he had been here she had been genuine and kind. Refusing would be rude when she was just trying to go up and beyond that of customer service and help him out. He accepted the card with a nod and a ‘thank you’ before turning on his heels, leaving the room.
That evening in bed he found himself lying awake spinning the card in his hand. It was in plain white, with simple yet elegant letters. One side spelled “Edogawa & CO Agency”, the other had a phone number and an address. He wonders slightly if it was a coincidence: maybe the owner was Japanese, or perhaps they were simply a big fan of Edogawa Ranpo. He didn’t disregard either possibilities.
Kaito couldn’t help but be intrigued. It was true he was running out of ideas and starting to feel the situation was hopeless. He had been expecting a Private Investigator agency to be flamboyant; he recalled from back in Tokyo and other locations in Las Vegas where they had neon signs and large posters to indicate their offices. However he had walked the streets for a week and not seen any indication of it. Perhaps the PI was confident in his abilities that he didn’t need to brag for attention. Even the card was underwhelming, it could be for anything.
…
He had not meant to. Not really. He had left the hotel that morning, deciding to return to the Police Inspector in charge of the Kaitou Corbeau case. Once again he was turned away, and he felt himself feeling bitter. He had followed every trace and clue he could for a week. He had gotten on the plane feeling excited, thinking he had a case of suspects and eyewitnesses. Yet every single one had been a dead end. He was at his wits end.
He hadn’t managed to focus on his career as a magician knowing the answer to his father’s death was out there. It had been one thing investigating the case under the radar in his youth with the help of Jii in Japan, but much more difficult in a foreign country. He had spent his teens trying pointlessly to uncover any clues in the Kaitou KID cave. At one point he had considered taking up the mantle in order to draw out the criminals, but had discarded the foolish idea. He was many things, but he was not a thief.
Perhaps that was what had him standing outside the PI office. Staring up at a non-assuming building: the exact replica of the block next to it. He thought he had gotten the address wrong, before he noticed a small plaque on the doorbell reading Edogawa & CO Agency. It was the right address.
He took a deep breath, hesitated only a second, before pushing the door open. It opened up to a corridor. One door on his left and one on the right. In middle was a staircase. Looking back on the doorbells, he could tell the Agency was on the second floor. Without hesitating he stepped into the room: it was slightly warmer than outside, and he pushed off his hood on the white winter jacket he wore. He climbed the stairs.
There was only a small plaque on the door with the name of the agency, and he knocked on the door softly. After a few seconds he heard a voice calling out “come in.”
Despite his previous hesitation, he opened the door before he could change his mind.
The office was a spacious room: some old leather chair lined one wall, presumably for waiting clientele with a watercooler between the furniture. To his immediate left was a desk filled with papers, office knickknacks, a laptop and a vintage phone – of actual use or as a prop for the atmosphere feeling, he didn’t know. Sitting behind the desk was a young man wearing a blue vest over a white dress shirt. The jacket hung on the chair. Around his neck was a red bowtie rather than the usual more professional looking tie.
His hair was dark brown, with an impressive cowlick and a tuft in the back. His eyes were hidden behind the glare of his glasses and the light from the window behind him. He had a sharp nose and protruding cheekbones. All in all, he was a very attractive young man.
Past the desk was two closed doors, presumably to the main offices – he had forgotten to ask Lucy how many people actually worked at the agency.
“Welcome to the Edogawa & CO Agency, how can I help you?” the guy behind the counter said with a welcoming smile curling on his lips – Kaito assumed him to the receptionist. Despite the fact the young man looked Japanese he had a flawless accent. It was a good tactic to have an attractive individual greeting possible clients to put them at ease.
“Ehm,” he started a little unintelligently while hesitating, not quite decided if he really wanted to do this. After a moment he decided to screw it, it couldn’t harm to have a consultation at the very least. “Is Conan available for a drop-in meeting? Lucy Cambell, the receptionist at the Skyline Hotel down the road recommended this agency to me.”
The receptionist lips twitched a little with what Kaito interpreted as humour – must be an inside joke he decided. “He should be available yes. Why don’t you sit in his office while you wait.” He stood up and instructed Kaito to follow him to the door on the right.
“Thank you,” he smiled back as he ducked under his arm into the room. The room was filled with another office desk, this one slightly bigger than the one in the reception. A comfy chair was behind it, with two beige leather chairs in front. An ugly Persian carpet covered most of the floor. The walls were covered with a variation of archives and cupboard filled to the brim with books and files. It made the room feel crowded.
“Why don’t you take a seat.” The receptionist pointed towards the visitor chairs. “Would you like something to drink while you wait? Some water or coffee?”
“Ehm,” Kaito let out as he sank into the closest chair – it was entirely too fluffy to be comfortable. “A cup of coffee sounds good.”
“Can do, I will be right back.”
Kaito folded his hands as he waited, his eyes roaming through the room, looking for any clues on who this Conan fellow was. There were no family pictures on the desk, no personal items, nothing that immediately spoke to him. The library of books and files only told him that the detective was a neat freak. Everything seemed to be alphabetized.
The receptionist came back into the room and handed him a cup of steaming hot coffee with another twist of the corner of his lips. Kaito thanked him as he blew on the liquid before taking a sip. It was not as bitter as he had expected as the flavour spread across his palate pleasantly.
“How did you know I liked it with sugar?”
He could have sworn he saw a shadow of a smirk on the other man’s face as he rounded the corner of the desk and sat down on the chair. “You seemed like the type,” was the airy reply as he bent over to get a stack of paper. He shuffled them in front of him before pushing his glasses up his nose with his index finger. He made a small sound in the back of his throat as he reached for a pen.
Kaito fidget a little in his seat, and glanced behind him towards the door, wondering if the receptionist would get in trouble if Conan spotted him in his seat. There was no evidence of movement from the other room. He turned back to the young man, and cleared his throat.
“Do you know when Mr. Edogawa will be back?”
“Any minute now,” was the only reply as the man leaned over the desk a little to scribble something down on the paper.
Kaito started to feel a bubble of unease as he once again glanced towards the door. He really did not want the guy to get in any trouble for him. Pluss, it also felt a little disrespectful to sit in his boss’ chair.
“Are you allowed to sit here?” Kaito asked bluntly, before biting his tongue. He had not meant to say that out loud.
The receptionist did not even glance up at him before grunting in the back of his throat that meant either yes or no – Kaito could not tell. He took another sip of his cup, starting to feel confused at what was happening, before he suddenly remembered Lucy’s words from yesterday. He put his cup down on the table a little harder than intended as the liquid sloshed against the corners, nearly spilling.
“You are messing with me aren’t you,” his gaze narrowed down as the young adult sat up in his chair – with a neutral face, he folded his hands on top of the desk. “You are Edogawa Conan,” Kaito grunted in exasperation.
“I am,” the grin that had been flirting on the corner of his lip since Kaito walked into the office, finally stretched across it. “Sorry for the deception, but having noticed your assumption I decided to play along. It’s been a slow day at the office.” He waves his hand towards the exit. “My usual receptionist is home with a sick kid today.”
Kaito barely managed to keep from facepalming – he had wrongly mistaken him for a receptionist. However he could not be blamed as one rarely ever saw anyone so young in charge of a private investigator agency. He was not sure of Conan’s age, he seemed to be in his early twenties, but he knew not even Hakuba had been this ambiguous at that age.
“Apologies, however I had expected someone. Ehm, how do I say this – older perhaps?”
Conan did not seem to take any offense as his eyes glittered with mirth. “You wouldn’t be the first. Majority come in expecting something out of a noir television series or book. With an older gentleman with substance abuse. I’ll have you know my only addiction is that of a good cup of coffee.”
Kaito picked up his cup again, and held it in the air towards his companion. “Amen. I can get behind that.”
“So,” Conan continued after a moment. “What troubles brings you to my agency?”
He put the coffee back down, nodded a little to himself – he had made a decision to trust the young detective. He felt no embarrassment or resentment of being tricked, in fact in hindsight he would tell the story to Jii with mirth at being bested. “I’m looking for Kaitou Corbeau.”
The previous friendly expression disappeared, as Conan suddenly shook his head. “I’m not in business of helping fanboys. Leave the phantom thief to the police, and admire him from afar. That’s the only recommendation I can give.” He stood from his seat and held the palm of his hand up towards the door to indicate he was done with the meeting.
Kaito did not move from his seat. “It’s for personal reasons,” he gritted his teeth, unsure how much he should say. “I think Kaitou Corbeau is connected to the events that caused the death of my father 23 years ago. I’m not here looking for his identity to brag to my friends, or bring him to justice. That’s the secondary objective.” He paused for a second, “the bringing him to justice bit, not the bragging.”
Conan dropped his arm and looked at him with a calculating expression that he could not determine if it was good or bad.
He stood from his seat, picked up his backpack and started to fish out a thick document. “I put on a leave of absence for this. I cannot focus on work finally knowing where he is after fifteen years. I have travelled half across the world. This is everything I have on him,” he tried to hand Conan the document, and after a brief moment of hesitation, the detective accepted them. “I refuse to go back home without any answers. It’s been fifteen years, I want – no – I need closure.”
Perhaps it was the determination in his gaze, or the desperation in his voice that had Conan give a slight nod in response. The stiffness of his shoulders dropped at the confirmation, and he felt a flood of relief. He didn’t know at which moment that he was certain he desired the detective’s help for sure. However it felt like the first step in the right direction for the first time in a week.
“I will be in contact,” was Conan’s reply as he dropped the content of the file on his desk, his glasses gleaming almost predatorily – and Kaito was suddenly very thankful he was on his side. The detective’s eyes looked to be of blue, determined steel behind the burning intelligence.
Kaito left the building with more hope than he had had in years, and his heart hammering in his chest at the memory of those mesmerizing eyes.
…
It had been two weeks since he had heard from Conan. The excitement started to churn in his stomach as the days passed by. He had not expected immediate results – he had spent fifteen years investigating on his own and occasionally with Jii-chan. However he had expected to hear something from him by now – if only for an update. For the past few days he had shown up to the office and found it locked. He was just looking for anything of information to rekindle the hope that he had gained leaving the agency two weeks ago.
He had already spent three weeks in Las Vegas, and he was burning through his savings. He was not yet ready to give up and go home. Once, Vegas had been his home. After high school he had taken up his mother’s offer of training underneath the greatest Magician’s of the time. Learned and perfected his skills underneath many a master within the craft.
He had only moved back to Japan five years prior: he had missed Aoko and his old friends. He wanted to make a name for himself in Japan, and with all the recommendations from his friends in Las Vegas, it had not taken long. He had thought all the fame and busy schedule would keep him from thinking about his father and Kaitou Corbeau. It had almost worked, he had put his files on the shelf. But then the phantom thief had shown up again.
He had laid awake for days thinking about it, Aoko had instructed him to let it go. But he couldn’t – he needed to know the truth. He had cancelled his Japan tour and put his career on hold to return to Las Vegas. He had sought all his old friends looking for any clue about the thief. Someone with such skill in performance art and magic surely had to have been trained by someone.
However, no one knew anything – or if they did, he could not tell if they were lying. The ability to keep a secret was a needed trait when your work entailed tricking an audience.
“Why so glum Kuroba?” the bartender stared at him with a curious expression. “It’s not like you to not be the centre of the party.” He flipped a glass from the counter, filled it with an undistinguishable brown liquid, and pushed it toward him with lopsided smile.
Kaito sat up on his seat where he had almost been laying on the counter. He nodded in thanks for the glass and donned the shot in one go. He barely managed to not grimace as the putrid flavour spread across his palate.
“Just a lot of stuff on my mind, Kenya,” he mumbled after a second, and he turned his gaze around the room. In a corner a trio of magicians whose faces were all familiar to him was talking excitingly. By a table another group was playing cards – in which everyone was cheating. The rules were the last one to get spotted won.
The Herrmann bar was a secret hanging for the local magicians and performers. Only known by them, and you only gained membership by invitation. Kaito had been a regular for years. Kenya was a bartender in his mid-twenties who moonshined as a performance artist. He wanted to get into magic, although talented, he lacked the confidence to perform in front of a large audience. His hair was divided into three colours: black, red and green. He wore thick eyeliners and had a small star drawn on his chin.
“The reason you came back I imagine,” Kenya continued as he grabbed the empty glass. “Las Vegas is not an easy place to leave. You are always drawn back to the magic.”
Kaito’s lips quirked upwards in a humourless smile. “I sure could need some real magic about now.”
“Cant say I know what you are talking about. But know you have our help if you need it for anything.”
He turned back to Kenya and pointed at the closest bottle. “Thanks for the offer, but I decided my try at professional help.”
The bartender grabbed the bottle and started pouring another glass. “That’s very far to travel just for a shrink, mate.”
Kaito let out a small laugh and couldn’t help the grin that spread on his lips. “Not that kind of help. But thank you for the confidence.” Kenya’s eyes glittered mischievously in response and he placed the shot glass in front of him. “I was thinking more along the help of a P.I.”
He cocked his head in curiosity. “Is that so? Whom did you go to? The Ganimard & CO Agency is a pretty popular organization. Ganimard is a good guy, but he hits the bottle a bit more often than he should.”
Kaito shook his head. “No. I went to this place right by my hotel. Came with recommendation. The name’s Edogawa Conan. Have you heard about him?”
If he had not known the man better, he wouldn’t have seen the miniscule changes in him. Kenya stood a little taller, his shoulder thigh and his eyes darted across the room. Kaito could have sworn he looked a little paler underneath the makeup caging his face.
He sat up automatically in response, and the hand that had gone for the shot glass now clutched it into his palm. The edges off the glass bit harmlessly into the skin. “What’s wrong? Was that not a wise choice?”
Kenya bit his lip; it was an unconscious trait he had when he was nervous. He was a horrible poker player. “Not per say,” he said with a soft voice. His entire demeanour was guarded. “I hear a lot of things as a bartender. Most people just ignore you as a shadow on the wall. Useful for gossip and some innocent intel. Magicians like to reveal some of their secrets when they are sloshed.”
Kaito downed the glass, and then gave an impatient wave of the hand to indicate that the bartender should get to the point already.
“Edogawa’s track record is exceptionally sure. He is smart, brilliant and generous. I haven’t heard anything bad about him directly, but I have heard rumours that he has some dangerous associates. As in,” he leaned in and lowered his voice even further. “There are eyes on his little agency. Mr. Moony from the Maskelyne theatre was throwing a fit threatening Edogawa once when the detective was hired by his wife to see if he was cheating. Spoilers, he was. The day after Mr. Moony was gone from the theatre. Left for New York last time I heard. Some of his associate said he left in a hurry after apologising to Edogawa. I think someone must have made some very dangerous threats to make Mr. Moony back off. He had a terrible temper that man did. Can’t say I’m not glad he is gone.”
He leaned back up, grabbed the empty glass and started to clean it with exaggerated movement with a towel.
Kaito frowned at the story. He remembered Mr. Moony. He was one of the older Magicians who had refused to train him back in the day. Once Kaito’s skills outshined his, the man had showed severe dislike towards him. Kaito had wisely kept his distance, with all the connection he had, Moony was not a man to trifle with. Yet someone had gone to a length to keep his wrath away from Edogawa?
Truth be told, he knew barely anything about the agency. They did not have a webpage or any other means of advertisement. When he had googled Edogawa Conan, he had only been referred to some old news articles from 10 years ago about a brilliant young detective in Tokyo.
“Should I –“ he hesitated for a moment. “Call him off my case? I don’t want to get involved with anything dangerous.”
Kenya’s answering smile did not reach his eyes. “I’m sure its fine. Like I said, people only speak warmly about his services. It’s when you make threats that things go hairy. As long as you are wary you should be fine.”
Kaito was not sure what to believe. The young man he had met in the office seems like a punk, but not a dangerous one at that. Perhaps the rumours were just that – slandering stories. It was all probably a coincidence – Mr. Moony had pissed off a lot of people. It was not impossible that his wife had been involved with why he left Las Vegas. She was a terrifying and jealous woman. She would not have taken the infidelity kindly.
“Yeah,” he said after a thoughtful moment. “I’m sure you are right.” He stood from his seat, dropped some crisp dollars on the bar counter and grabbed for his jacket. “Thanks for the chat, but I think I’ll get going.”
Kenya scoped the bills up. “Alright. Don’t be a stranger now, Kuroba.”
He only nodded in response. He pulled the jacket on and left. The sound of murmurs and music disappeared as the door shut close behind him. The winter air was crisp on his ears, and he pulled the hood of his jacket over his head in compliance. The white fur on the hood almost tickled his nose. He started down the alleyway: it led to a popular street. The shining neon lights blinked all around him almost blindingly. He came to an abrupt stop as a wind blew some snow crystal past him.
It was snowing. In Las Vegas.
It never snowed here. It was practically a town in the middle of a dessert. His entire body shivered in response to the sight. He hated the snow – no, loathed it. Those innocent white flecks of crystalized ice. One of the reasons he had loved living in the city, was that it never got cold enough for it to snow.
His chest bubbled with disgust. He hated everything connected with snow: snowball, snow forts, skiing, ice skating – all the times Aoko had forced him to ice skate in his youth. He had done it to please her, but he disliked it severely. To him, the falling of snow was not a picture of innocence and beauty, rather it was filled with nothing but anguish and silence. It was cold, harsh and cruel.
Instinctively, his right hand drifted towards his chest, and settled above his heart. The words written underneath seemed to almost burn into his skin – however he knew it was just his imagination.
Everyone had a soulmate in the world, one person who were destined to understand you and to complement each other perfectly. Some walked through their life not knowing who their partner were, and some knew instinctively from first glance – a soulmate pair would always be drawn together. For those who are uncertain and struggle to discover their destined partner, a phrase was written on everyone’s body that will help identify them. However, it was not as easy as it sounded, as the word or sentence written will be the last thing they ever hear the other say to them.
And Kaito, like many others, choose to stay away from the condition that can accidently bring forth the situation – there was entirely too many horror stories of soulmates meeting for the first time during the last dying breath of the other. No one wanted to be the one left behind, and the soulmarks were a curse more than a blessing.
Kaito’s aversion to snow was understandable – it was never questioned as it was easily assumed the reason of it. He would rather live not knowing who his soulmate was, than to meet them at their dying breath. He suddenly was struck by the need to flee. Leave Las Vegas, travel south, as far as he could. Run to a place that never had seen snow.
However, it was a moot point. He could not run from destiny. He should not let his fear keep him from living his life. Finally, he could take a deep breath and control the anxiety that had crawled up on him. He let his shoulders fall as he continued walking, his eyes glued on the ground so he did not have to see the falling of the snow. This was better: it was manageable. His fear was only in his head after all.
By the time he got to his hotel, the snow had stopped falling. It had thankfully only been a short quall. He brushed off the snow as he entered the reception, nodded towards the night-receptionist – a older gentleman with grey hair curling on his sides.
The hotel was usually empty at this time a night. Most guests would either have gotten back from a day of sightseeing, or they were already outside drinking until the early morning. He rushed past a couple he recognized; they had arrived a few days ago. From their happy expression and giggling nature – and the new golden matching rings on their finger – he assumed them to be on their honeymoon. They ignored him as he walked past.
He came to a stop in front of his door in surprise. There was a note taped on the door. Looking around curiously, he pocketed the note and unlocked the door. The room was modest: he had not gone for an expensive one, as he had no idea how long he would be spending in Las Vegas. However, he had everything he needed. A bed, a nightlamp, a closet, a TV on top of a table, as well as a mini-bar. To his left was the door to a spacious bathroom. It was the kind that had a bathtub rather than a shower. He looked forward to soaking in the water to get warmth back into his bones after walking in the crisp cold.
Kicking off his boots and leaving the jacket draped over a chair, he sat down on the bed. The note lay in his hand. It had no markings on it: no indication of whom it was from. Without any name, it was hard to tell whether or not it really was for him, or someone had taped it on the wrong door. With his curiosity peaked, he opened the note.
The piece of paper only contained an address and a time. Nothing else. It felt a bit anticlimactic. He wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or not. Despite there not being any indication of the writer, he had an inkling of whom had sent it. He fell back on the bed and clutched the letter to his chest. A smile curled on his lips in pleasure. Finally. Finally, he was getting somewhere.
Tomorrow, he would finally get some answers: he was certain of it.
…
The address led him to a house that could only be described as a mansion. It was unnecessary lavish with archers and columns, and the odd winged statue made of marble in between. The walls around were tall enough that it would be hard to climb let along see into the courtyard, and cameras were pointed towards the house and the gate at every angle. He only hesitated for a moment – wondering if he had the correct address, before he approached the gate. The door was made of red mahogany – once again he found it distasteful to waste such expensive material - a con system was on the right.
He pressed the button. A small buzz sound tickled his ears. After few seconds a rough voice replied.
“Yes?”
That sounded positively welcoming, he thought drily. “A Kuroba Kaito to see Edogawa Conan. Erh, I mean Mr. Edogawa.” He bit his tongue at the slip up – he had spent too long in Japan that he forgot that most foreigners were unaware of their habits of adding the surname first out of respect.
He only had to wait a short moment, before the voice responded – most likely to check if he was allowed in or not. “You have permission to enter. Go through the front door and to your left. Mr. Edogawa is in La sala principal.”
The door buzzed, and he pushed the door open after a quick ‘thank you’. The front yard wasn’t particular large – but larger than for a usual house, but he assumed the main garden would be in the back for privacy as most homes had a tendency to do. The grass was sparkling green despite it being winter, and it looked freshly mowed. A fountain with a baby angel spluttered on his right. He followed the gravel road to the front door.
Just as he reached it, the door opened from within. A man greeted him with a nod. He wore dark sunglasses despite being indoors, had a small moustache and trimmed short, hair. His suit looked to be costing more than Kaito’s whole wardrobe he gathered a guess. He looked of Latino descent – something which would explain the Spanish earlier. Above his ear was a small wired ear piece, identifying him as a body guard of some kind.
“This way Mr. Kuroba,” he grunted as Kaito stepped into the house, and started to lead the way.
The magician only had a brief time to look at his surroundings before he hurried after the man. The inside was even more lavish than the outside. Most of the décor seemed to be made of the best marbles, with statues and other expensive looking vases and paintings. A staircase made of white marble led up to the first floor, and every room seemed to have a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Despite being impressed by the clear showcase of wealth, he couldn’t help the gnawing feeling of exasperation – the owner of the house had far more money than anyone would ever need.
The main hall – or La sala principal that the man on the coms had called it – was on a platform. The architecture was that of the marble that the rest of the house seemed to be built with, with a large ceiling with arches and vaults in the typical gothic form. A spiral staircase led up to the second floor, where he could see the glimpses of paintings. The first floor itself was spacious, but with the occasional glass monitors in the middle and framing the walls. He could see jewels, diamonds, crowns, Ming vases and a lot of other wonders from just a quick survey of the room. The owner must be a large collector: he had never seen a museum that could compare to the extravagant and priceless exhibition he was currently witnessing.
The bodyguard did not say anything as Kaito ventured into the room. From the corner of his eyes he could see the man stand by the entrance, following him like a hawk with his eyes. Despite the many cameras, it did not seem the owner trusted anyone to be alone amongst his prized possessions. Kaito could not blame him one bit. He would have been just as cautious.
His eyes were automatically drawn to a piece standing proudly behind a glass monitor on his left, and seeing as no one protested, he approached it. The necklace itself was of white gold, simply yet elegant with small spirals etched into the metal from top to bottom. It reached down to a larger Fibonacci spiral. Between the right and the left one stood a large, white, flawless diamond.
Kaito did not even want to hazard a guess as to its value. More money than he would see in a lifetime was the closest he could get.
“Do you like it?”
A familiar voice had Kaito turn around in surprise – he had not seen or heard anyone else in the room. Conan was standing right behind him, the glare of his glasses made his eyes obscured and unreadable. He still wore a red bow tie around his neck, but his vest was hidden underneath a midnight blue coat. He still looked immaculate dressed with groomed hair and ironed clothing. Last time they had spoken things had gone so quickly that he had not realized that the detective was half a head short than him.
“It has quite a tragic story linked to the name: Betrayed Heart. They say it was made by a man who worked in the concentration camps in the forties. One day he had brought a group to the gas chamber. As he hit the button one of the victims had walked to the door and yelled something. The tale doesn’t say what, but the soldier recognized the person as his soulmate. He never got to see their face – but the voice never let him. Knowing he had, by his own actions, killed his soulmate: he deserted. Wounded up in America sometime, made this piece from the gold and diamond stolen from Jews. Then he killed himself.”
Kaito felt a cold shiver run down his spine, and he only barely managed to keep from placing a palm above the soulmark on his chest. He couldn’t imagine something like that ever happen: the guilt would be soul wrecking.
“Of course, I don’t know if there is actually any truth to the story. Horrible things happen all the time, so it is not beyond improbability. One can often hear the story of killers turning themselves into the Police when they took the life of their soulmate unknowingly.” Conan continued, his gaze went from focusing on Kaito to the necklace on the display. His lips quirked downwards in what could only be described as sorrow. “Imagine being haunted by the knowledge your actions are the sole responsibility for the death of the person who is supposed to love you unconditionally? Some would say life wouldn’t be worth living.”
Kaito couldn’t help but fidget at the intensity of the detective, even though it wasn’t focused on him. Who knew what he had seen or gone through – especially in his vocation. He did not envy anyone who worked with police investigations: seeing the worst of people.
“Accidents happen all the time. You could accidentally drive over them with your car. Even if the person wasn’t, its manslaughter, its still a horrible situation. Someone died. You should be guilty and heartbroken knowing you caused the death of someone. Not just soulmates.”
Conan glanced back at him, and for a moment he imagined he could see a flicker of surprise in his eyes before the glare of the artificial lights above obscured them once more. “That is a pretty logical solution. More people find mourning the death of a soulmate above the death of a random stranger.”
Kaito gave a one shouldered shrug, “call me callous if you want. But the death of anyone is still a sad void in the world. If I was a criminal, why think you are above the law and think that none of this won’t apply to you as long as it isn’t personal. Whether the victim is your soulmate or not, it doesn’t make a single difference. They should be emotionally wrecked by the act of killing. But that’s just my thoughts on it.”
Conan looked thoughtful, before giving a short nod. “I don’t think anyone would disagree with that logic. It’s a theoretically sound idea. But in practicality, you will always choose your friends over the life of a stranger. The personal versus the unknown. It’s the human psychology. May I enquire about a personal question? Just to see if my current theory is correct or not.”
“Yeah, sure. Ask away,” Kaito looked curiously down at him. Wondering what he wanted to know.
“Do you personally have a soulmark or are you one of those who will never cross path with them?”
He looked away, his cheeks burning. Wether of embarrassment or otherwise he wasn’t sure. It was not something people asked, it was a private affair. However Conan seems to lack any kind of shame as he could feel the detective’s gaze burning into him with inquisitiveness.
For a moment he considered not answering, but his curiosity won over his defensiveness. He had a feeling he wouldn’t have been asked if it wasn’t for an important reason.
“I do have a soulmark, yes. I wont be showing it to you though –“
Conan waved a hand in disinterest. “No need. That’s between you and whatever God you believe in. I believe you.” He then brought the hand to his chin in thoughtfulness. “Fascinating. It seems I have misjudged you, Kuroba. Usually you only find such scepticism in people who lack a mark. To them the whole concept is wrong – and occasionally they hate it because they do not themselves have one. Yet you disregard the whole concept as a lack of morality. I like it.”
This time, he knew exactly what the blush that crept from his collar was. “It’s not exactly a revolutionary thought. I just don’t see the point of romanticising the whole thing. I wont know until they are on their dying breath. I think I’d feel better not having a mark. That way I will never know for certain who is and isn’t my soulmate.”
“Ah,” Conan replied after a moment. He dropped his hand, and for a moment Kaito felt a bang in his stomach at what looked like disappointment in the detective. “You are one of those.”
He did not really know what to reply to that, other than biting down the uncomfortable feeling that settled in his stomach. He had liked it a lot better when Conan had been admiring him.
“I’m sure you are wondering why I asked you to this location,” he continued, seemingly done with the conversation. From out of a pocket he fished out a piece of paper. “Through my network I have learned that Kaitou Corbeau intends to steal this necklace tonight.”
Kaito’s jaw dropped in surprise. His thoughts jumped from How, What, impossible.
Conan must have noticed his inability of speech. “Most of the thefts seemed to be private and directed at criminals. That’s why it hasn’t made the news. In fact, he has been a lot more active than anyone has been aware of: as no one actively announce or share between them that their security was breached. You are lucky I have my connections.”
“That’s amazing,” Kaito managed to splutter. “I have been researching for so long, I didn’t have a clue.” Then, suddenly the words sank in, and he looked around quickly before leaning down to whisper. “Whose house are we in currently?”
“Joaquín Guzmán,” Conan said, seemingly unphased at his distress.
“The Mexican Cartel?” Kaito almost squeaked, before placing a hand over his mouth. Oh shit, that explained the guards and the Spanish and how careful they were. How in heavens did the detective have ties to the criminal organization to a point they would just casually let him waltz into their home and even invite a stranger?
He must have seen the panic rising in him, and only gave a roll of his eyes and a scoff. As though he was thinking Kaito was overreacting. “He owes me a favour. It isn’t important.” He waves the piece of paper in front of him, temptingly. “Would you like to know what I found out or not?”
Kaito felt himself hesitating, on one part he yearned to reach out and pluck the piece of paper from him: finally getting some answers. On the other hand, he was starting to wonder what he had gotten himself involved with. He recalled Kenya’s statement from yesterday: people only speak warmly about his services. It’s when you make threats that things go hairy. As long as you are wary you should be fine.
It calmed his nerves enough that he held his palm out. Just knowing anything would be enough for him. “Yeah, I’d like that. Thank you. How much do I owe you?”
Conan handed him the slip. “Absolutely nothing. I don’t do this for money.”
Kaito frowned at that, before shaking his head a little. The detective was sure a really strange guy. Without saying anything else, he folded the paper. It had the same elegant handwriting as from the note from yesterday.
Northwest alleyway: he will make an escape from the balcony and land there at approximately 12.03.
He felt like he couldn’t breathe, his entire body frozen in time. He had never in his wildest dream imagined he would be allowed to confront the phantom thief. He had not known what to expect, however this was beyond his wildest imagination.
“To say it short, this is my prediction. I am 95% sure I’m correct. Some margin of error is possible, as I do not have a say in what the guards will do tonight. But I hope you get to confront your target,” Conan’s expression suddenly turned razor sharp; and Kaito felt a dangerous aura emanating from him. “If you value your life, you will not mention this to anyone. Especially not to Guzmán’s men. I have given them different instructions. You should have enough time.”
Kaito felt another shiver down his spine, and his stomach churned a little in what he could only describe as fear. “I understand.” It all made sense now; perhaps the drug lord had contacted the Agency for help with preventing the thief from stealing the necklace. That would explain why Conan was here after all. “Are you sure I can’t pay you? I don’t feel comfortable making you take such a dangerous risk for me –“
Conan cut him off before he could finish, repeating his previous statement. “I don’t take payment. Do as you please with the information I’ve given you. Turn him into the police if you want,” he glanced down at his wristwatch. “That is all the time I have. I need to go, Miguel will show you out.” He nodded towards the guard that had greeted Kaito at the entrance. Before he could reply, the detective had turned on his heels and walked away, out of sight.
Kaito’s heart was hammering in his chest. Was this really happening? Would he finally get the chance for a proper answer after fifteen years? He felt a bit uneasy on how things had escalated: being involved with something criminal? The morally right would be to turn this information into the police. However…
He had never turned the Kaitou KID cave into the authorities. He had kept it as his dirty little secret for almost two decades. He had already broken the law by not turning the evidence in – and his escapades as a teen had toyed with the rules bordering to illegal. Who knew if the police would be able to even catch the phantom thief – they had not done so for over a decade. This would most likely be his one and only chance.
He curled the note in his fist as he balled them. He needed to make plans on how he would corner Kaitou Corbeau on the off chance he would actually showed up – he did not doubt Conan’s predictions, but a part of him thought it was impossible that it was so easy. That it had just fallen into his lap like this.
Better yet, he needed to calm his thoughts enough to figure out what he would ask the thief if – when – he cornered him.
“Ready to go, mr. Kuroba,” Miguel said with a gruff, impatient voice. His eyes drilled almost like daggers into Kaito’s back.
“Yes of course,” he replied back immediately, not wanting to irate the man. He kept the anxiety from his voice; he had seen the bugle of a gun under jacket when he had entered the abode. “Sorry for the wait,” with a last glance at the necklace, he turned around and left.
He had a lot of things to plan until midnight.