Death Note: Another Note

Mello

BB era um potencial sucessor de L na casa de Wammy mas por não querer ser apenas um reforço tornou-se num assassino. Ele começou a matar para se aproximar de L. B tinha olhos de Shinigami por isso só matava pessoas que iam morrer naquele mesmo dia ou brevemente. Tambem tem gostos estranhos como comer geleia(ou doce) de morango e fazer coisas grutescas com as suas vitimas.

Another Note Page 00 : HOW TO USE IT
Beyond
Birthday’s third homicide was an experiment. He’d attempted to remove
the person’s internal organs without damaging them, but they had died
of internal hemorrhaging anyway, as he’d expected, and that was the end
of that. He’d taken great lengths to prevent his victim from moving,
too, using both physical restraints and a medicine that made them
unconscious. Once suitably immobile, he had meticulously torn off the
skin of their left arm. Leaving the tool he’d just used in the wound,
he had then hit it repeatedly, intending to kill them, but it had
ultimately led to nothing more than heavy internal bleeding. He was
disappointed to watch his experiment end in failure. Even after the arm
swelled with enough blood to turn it an angry purplish-red, the victim
did not die. They had had a series of strange convulsions, which he
might have found perfect under other conditions, but which, this time,
caught him off-guard. As the arm filled with blood, the victim’s life
began to fade. He’d expected this from previous trials, but this time
he found the experience to be...sweeter, somehow. Naturally, Beyond
Birthday considered the importance of such a murder to be relatively
low, but the experiment itself, whether a failure or a success, was
extremely entertaining. Afterwards, Beyond Birthday carefully removed
the knife from his victim’s shoulder and—well. Well, well, well.

Such
speeches will stop, such stories will cease to be told, such meticulous
notes will no longer be taken; not one sentence contains even a single
iota of reason, up to the very last line. I am sick of this wild goose
chase; to throw the matter down and finish it is the best I can do.
Beyond Birthday’s wild farces are reminiscent of Holden Caulfield, and
if they are so alike, then following and cross-examining his erratic
thought patterns is not my intention (I, in my position within the
government, remember pushing myself beyond my own abilities in an
attempt to keep track his delusions). I have kept meticulous notes on
this chain of serial murders he’s committed, but reciting them in this
way should by no means raise their value. This report is not a novel. I
do not like the fact that it has temporarily taken on such a form.
There is no excuse for putting this case into such stereotypical,
common words, but perhaps by bringing the matter to the public’s
attention, I will be able to create a fresh start.

The result of
the confrontation between L, this era’s great detective, and this Kira,
a homicidal maniac he’d been hunting, is that the common people are
forced to read these notes. Kira had prepared the metaphorical
guillotine in order to spread his fantastic ideas across the globe, but
it was a mere madman’s ideology; he set himself up as the god of his
own little game, but he was a only fool who wasted his time chasing
after his own childish beliefs. He ruled through terrorism and nothing
more—or perhaps his desire was to be the god of a corrupt society, one
filled with false accusations and betrayal. Such is probably the
difference between gods of death and gods themselves, this negative
intent, although it is something I don’t plan to think about often.

How in the world can Kira be good?

L will always be the most important thing in my life.

L.

L
was too talented to die like that. His death was unreasonable; it came
too damn fast! He solved over 3,500 difficult cases, and there are
three times the amount of people packing the prisons today than there
would be without him. He was a private investigator, and even though he
never showed his face, his influence alone was great enough to inspire
the world’s organizations to move forward together—I think that only
someone who can match such an immaculate reputation should be able to
inherit such a title. I also think I know who that person should be.
Something happened, and I am unable to succeed him. Instead I shall
leave behind this report in full, and let his real successor take the
title.

This legend of L, then, is my final will and testament.
It is a dying message aimed at the world at large, and which does not
belong to me. Near, arrogant brat that he is, will probably find these
notes before anyone else has a chance to; I only hope he doesn’t burn
them upon discovery, or destroy them some other way. Actually,
destroying them might be best; he didn’t know L like I did, and I don’t
want to shatter whatever idealized image he might have created of him.
There’s a possibility that this may fall into that demon Kira's hands
instead, but I don’t mind. This is for you, you homicidal maniac: you
let that abominable death god carry you on its back from beginning to
end, and you used nothing but some nonsensical notebook to kill in an
attempt to keep your hands clean of your own victims’ blood. You do not
deserve to kiss L's feet, and are nothing more than dirt so unclean he
wouldn’t even bother dirtying a tatami mat by laying it over you.

I
am one of only a handful of people who has met L in person. He told me
three of his achievement stories during our times together, but I have
no intention of sharing those memories with you. Instead I’ll tell you
the middle story, the one that relates to me; the story of Beyond
Birthday. I refuse to beat around the bush here; if I do not relate the
tale of the Los Angeles Beyond Birthday serial murder cases in full,
how can anyone glean any information from them? I was brought up in
Wammy’s House and stayed there until I was fifteen years old; L wasn’t.
It had a profound influence on my ability to adapt to situations as
needed. It doesn’t matter if there were ten or more casualties in this
case or if it took over a million dollars to solve; L, in addition to
three or four other people, gave his life in the pursuit of justice,
and his sacrifice was honorable. More details concerning L are brought
forward later—though perhaps they concern me as well, and perhaps Kira
too; regardless, what happened in that watershed and what happened
during the Los Angeles BB serial murder cases is monumental.

Because...

Because that is the first time L identifies himself as Ryuuzaki.

I
have no interest in the specifics of how Beyond Birthday committed his
crimes. Such gruesome details, then, will be omitted. Instead I will go
back and tell the complete story of his first and second murders, since
they are what drew L's interest early on, and enticed him to embark on
what would become the greatest case of his time. I’m only a third party
in this; neither Near, arrogant as he is, nor Kira, crazy as he is,
will be able to tell I wrote this unless I leave my signature as the
narrator, the navigator, and the storyteller at the end of these
opening remarks—although conversely, for anyone but those two people,
such anonymity might actually be a good thing. I am, then, the one who
died in vain, the best dresser of this pointless death, Mihael Keehl. I
call myself Mello now, and am generally identified as such, but that’s
already an old story.

My memories are vivid, but they’re filled with nightmares.

The
Los Angeles BB Serial Murder Case is an incredibly suiting title for
the incidents contained therein, but it wasn’t always referred to as
such. In the midst of the chaotic scandal, people knew it as the Straw
Doll Murders, or the LA Closed Room Serial Murders; neither are
particularly sophisticated names, but the media insisted on promoting
them until they caught on. The truth is, though, that Beyond Birthday
was probably somewhat reluctant to be a criminal—I, on the other hand,
tend to be rather revealing of my thoughts in such situations. Anyway,
the day after Beyond Birthday committed his third murder was the
morning of August 14th, 2002. It was 8:15 AM, and FBI agent Misora
Naomi was blinking one eye open sleepily to peer around her empty
one-person apartment from where she lay on the bed. She was wearing the
same dark leather jacket and pants that she’d worn the day before,
having spent a good deal of the night wandering around downtown; when
she’d returned she had parked her motorcycle outside and collapsed in
bed without so much as a shower, exhausted. And now, she who would
become the leading contributor to the solution of the Los Angeles BB
Serial Murder Cases, was finally waking up. She’d been temporarily
suspended from office, but she didn’t care; it allowed her to escape
the pressure from her upper-level colleagues. Temporary retirement,
suspension from office, summer vacation; they were all the same to her.
The reason for her suspension would probably be deliberated in a trial.
If I’m not mistaken, she was a Japanese woman living in America, and
she was constantly on duty because of this fact. Last month, however,
just before the Los Angeles BB Serial Murders took place, Misora Naomi
had made a fairly large error in the case she was working, and was
suffering through the consequences now. This was not the kind of
problem that could be cleared from her psyche by a simple ride through
the city on her motorcycle.

This time Misora had considered
quitting the FBI; she was very tempted to just throw everything away
and go back to Japan. The entire organization was completely
ridiculous, of course, but it was her own huge mistake that was
weighing so heavily on her conscience. At the rate things were going,
Misora was going to turn self-employed just to get rid of the social
pressure.

Or possibly just...retire.

The sweat made her
feel disgusting. Pushing her protesting body up sluggishly from the
bed, Misora decided to take a quick shower to revitalize herself. Her
eye caught on the laptop sitting on her desk, and she paused as she
realized it was running. She didn’t remember starting it, and she’d
only just woken up. Had she turned it on when she’d gotten home last
night? Then why hadn’t she changed clothes? To carelessly let it boot
up while she’d slept... She had no memory of hitting the button, but
the screen saver was on, so she probably had. Undressing for comfort,
she collapsed back into bed and crawled over to the nearby desk,
brushing the mouse lightly with her hand. The screen saver winked out
and Misora tilted her head at her flickering mailbox; she had new mail.
Unsurprising; her computer was attached to the world even while she
wasn’t, after all, and it wasn’t like her work stopped when she did.
She may have even fallen asleep in the middle of checking it...Misora
thought about that while she clicked into her inbox. There was only one
new message. From Raye Penber. He was Misora’s current boyfriend, and
another member of the FBI. He was a typical agent, though he’d told
Misora once, “It’s dangerous work; you’d better switch jobs.” Her
temporary suspension was nearly over, so this was probably something to
do with that. She clicked on the No Subject header.


Naomi Misora-sama,

I must first apologize for this abrupt means of communication; there is no excuse for my rudeness.

I
would like to ask for your cooperation in solving a certain case. If
you would like to help me, please access the third block on the third
section of the Funny Dish server on August 4th at 9am. The connection
will remain open for five minutes (please hack through the firewall
yourself).

L


Even though she was, at the very least,
suspended and under investigation for that mistake in her previous
case, no one should know...Something was off. No one had access to her
name. It seemed more likely that Ray or another agent was playing a
prank on her, and that they were only imitating L’s signature. He never
revealed himself in public, and wouldn’t use his name so arbitrarily
just to contact her. Considering what the world was like today, it was
most likely just a prank being pulled by some selfish detective who’d
managed to track her down.

On the other hand...

“...What a pain in the ass.”

She
thought it over while she showered, taking care to rinse the evidence
of the previous night’s fatigue from her body, then dried her long,
dark hair and enjoyed a cup of steaming coffee.

She considered
rejecting the offer regardless, but she knew she should examine every
option before making a decision. As a criminal investigator working for
the FBI--even just an ordinary agent such as herself--she had no reason
to refuse a request from L. He was known as her time’s Great Detective,
and she never thought she would find herself hesitating over an
opportunity to help him. If, ultimately, you take Misora Naomi’s
personality into account, the reasons supporting her final decision
make perfect sense. Her only lament was over the fact that L had hacked
into her latest model laptop, which she’d only purchased the previous
month, and she would have to replace it immediately.

“Not much I can do about it...Ah, well, I guess this kind of chance doesn’t come along every day...”

She’d made her decision.

Once
the clock hit 8:55 she sat down at her laptop, which had 23 hours of
battery life remaining, and followed L’s instructions. The hacking
wasn’t very difficult, but her skill as an investigator certainly
helped.

As soon as she gained access, her laptop screen blinked
pure white and a large, intricately decorated letter L appeared in the
center. She breathed a sigh of relief at the sight.

“Misora Naomi-san.”

The
voice emerging from her laptop’s speakers was obviously synthetic. It
was, however, among investigators worldwide, the internationally
recognized Voice of L. This was Misora’s first experience hearing it,
but it was as she had always expected it to be; impersonal, as if she
were being introduced on a television show--although since she had
never actually appeared in a television show, she could only guess as
to what it felt like.

“I am L.”

“Pleased to...”

Misora
stopped mid-greeting when she realized her laptop was not equipped with
a microphone. Instead, she typed, “This is Misora Naomi. It is an honor
to be able to speak with you, L.” If their connection was secure, she
expected the greeting to go through.

“Misora Naomi-san, are you familiar with the outbreak of murders presently sweeping through Los Angeles?”

L
went straight to the point without addressing her greeting. It may have
been because they had to end their transmission by 9:05, but it still
grated a little on Misora’s nerves. If he wanted her full cooperation
as a partner, he should act more naturally and treat her as one, and
not just assume that she would help. Irritated, she struck the keys
loud enough to make a clattering sound.

“I do have a general knowledge of the murders taking place in Los Angeles, I’m not incompetent.”

“Yes, so I am beginning to see.”

She felt better upon having her own sarcasm returned. L continued promptly.

“As
of yesterday, three victims have been reported in this case--though
that figure may increase in future. The HHN news has been reporting
them as the Straw Doll Murders.”

“The Straw Doll Murders--”

She
didn‘t know that case; she’d been intentionally avoiding the news
throughout her suspension. The phrase was unfamiliar to her as well,
having been raised in Japan through high school, and even hearing it in
English did not ease the strange feeling it induced.

“I want to
solve this case,” L told her. “The criminal must be apprehended. For
that, Misora Naomi-san, your cooperation is essential.”

“Mine,
really? Why?” Misora responded shortly. Whether L took her question to
mean “Why is my cooperation essential?” or “Why do I have to cooperate
with you?” was up to him. He seemed to interpret it as the former,
though, and her sarcasm was lost.

“Because you are an excellent investigator, Misora Naomi-san.”

“But I’m off-duty right now.”

“I know. I consider that a convenience.”

He’d
said there were three victims. There were probably more, of course, but
as this was probably not a case the FBI would involve themselves in, it
explained why L had not contacted her through them. It was, therefore,
probably safe to assume that he had bypassed the director of the FBI
entirely in order to contact her directly, and in an abrupt manner that
she couldn’t have avoided. He wasn’t even giving her any time to think
about it. But...why would he be hunting a killer that the FBI refused
to touch? Still...she had to answer him through this laptop, and
quickly.

She glanced at the clock. Less than a minute remained before their connection would be terminated at 9:05.

“All right,” she finally agreed. “I’ll help you as best I can.”

L’s answer was instantaneous. “Thank you. I knew you would agree once I had spoken with you.”

His voice held no real trace of appreciation. It was an automated voice and couldn’t be helped, but still.

“I
will tell you how to initiate communications with me, then. We do not
have much time, so the instructions will be brief. First--”

. : :: :: :: : .



It
is first necessary, I suppose, that you at least know the summary of
the Los Angeles BB Serial Murder Case. On the last day of July, 2002, a
man was killed in his one-bedroom home, located along Insist Street in
Hollywood, Los Angeles. His name was Believe Bridesmaid, he was a
free-lance writer, and he’d lived alone. He wrote under various names
for various publications, the content of which may have contributed to
his death--though realistically this is merely speculation, something
the police would like to believe. The cause of death was strangulation.
He was choked with a cord from behind after being drugged and losing
consciousness. There were no signs of a struggle, though this evidence
has been disputed; the killer was good at what he did. The second
murder occurred four days later, on August 4th, 2002. This time it was
a woman named Quarter Queen in a one-bedroom apartment on Third Avenue,
located in downtown Los Angeles. She was beaten to death. The murder
weapon, some kind of blunt cylinder resembling a bat, had split open
the top of her skull. She also appeared to have been drugged prior to
her death. I mention this because it links the two crimes, a common
clause that makes this the second murder by the same criminal and not
some isolated incident across town, despite the difference of location.

Straw dolls had been nailed to the wall in both crime scenes, four on Insist Street and three on Third Avenue.

The
straw dolls found at the scene of the first crime had been reported by
the police, which made the possibility that the second was an imitation
very likely. There were, however, other small consistencies between the
two that linked them, and the police, their resolve hardened, treated
them as serial murders instead of coincidental ones. But there was also
a large problem with this assumption; besides the straw dolls, there
was no other physical connection between Believe Bridesmaid and Quarter
Queen. There were no mutual names or telephone numbers shared between
their cell phones. Quarter Queen did not even own a cell phone--she was
only a thirteen-year-old little girl. There were no other obvious
connections between her and the forty-four-year-old war veteran turned
free-lance writer. It was difficult to find one, given the difference
of locations, though if we assume there really is a relationship
between them, it’s likely that it involved the man and the girl’s
mother, and that she was away on some trip during her daughter’s
murder. In the days of the old detective stories, a link was always
discovered between the first two victims with the addition of the
third. The focus of this investigation turned to the third victim as
well, though nine days passed before it happened on August 13th, 2002.
The media made use of this gap to begin calling them the Straw Doll
Murders.

This time there were two straw dolls found nailed to
the wall. Their numbers continued to decrease by one as each murder was
committed.

It occurred on the West Side of the city, in a
residential townhouse near the Glass Station Metro Rail. The victim’s
name was Backyard Bottomslash, and she was a twenty-eight-year-old bank
clerk--there was a possibility that he had picked her age so that it
fell between the first and second victims’. Needless to say, there was
no physical connection between her and Believe Bridesmaid or Quarter
Queen. It was unlikely that they’d even passed each other on the
street. Cause of death was loss of blood due to severe hemorrhaging.
Strangulated, beaten, bled...each murder was committed using a
different method, and none revealed any clues or connections to any of
the others. It was as if he was experimenting on every victim, testing
something new on them one by one, none of their deaths natural in any
way. None of the criminal’s tools were found during the investigations.
The police grew progressively stumped by each murder, but they
concluded that the third would be the last and, having incurred no
further information to investigate, were forced to close the case. The
criminal’s performance was perfect, and in completely stumping the
police, he had also managed to stroke his own ego, which I believe was
probably what Beyond Birthday had wanted to do all along.

Oh
yes, there was another common factor between the three locations, in
addition to the straw dolls; each of the crimes was committed in a
closed room that had been locked from the inside. If this was an old
detective story, the common link found would be the Closed Room. The
investigative team, however, did not attach much importance to this
fact. Upon receiving the documents regarding the investigation from L,
however, Misora Naomi affixed much of her attention to this “Closed
Room situation”, and it made her uneasy. She considered it the keyword
to the puzzle.

Upon receiving a request from L on August 15th, Misora Naomi, who was
now working under the direction of L and not as an FBI agent, set out
to begin her investigation. Now self-employed, Misora had had to
forfeit her badge and handcuffs, as well as any other authority
equipment she’d possessed. She was heading into this case no better
armed than a civilian.

Nevertheless, she did not feel like one.
She had never been prone to using her authority during investigations;
she wasn’t the type of detective who worked on cases that required it.
It would take a little grunt work, but investigating alone would
prevent general group stupidity and help to show off her own skills, so
she wasn’t incredibly unhappy about it. L would get to see first-hand
how talented she was in the field.

Regardless, Misora arrived at
Insist Street, Hollywood, the site of the first murder, at a little
past noon on August 15th. She thought, as she fished her cell phone out
of her bag, that the house looked a little big for a bachelor to have
lived in alone. She then dialed the appointed five-digit passcode,
encoded in order to keep both her and L safe.

“L. I‘m at the scene.”

“You have my thanks.”

As
expected, the synthetic voice issuing from her phone now was the same
as the one on her laptop before. L probably used it to keep himself
hidden during investigations, though that wasn’t something worth
thinking about at the moment. “What should I do now?” She’d wanted to
enter the premises, but she wouldn’t act without L’s orders.

“Are you within the crime scene now, Misora Naomi-san? Or are you outside?”

“Outside. I’m looking at the house from across the street--I haven’t entered yet.”

“Please do so now. You won’t need a key; it shouldn’t be locked.”

“...All
right, then,” she replied through gritted teeth. She had to resist the
urge to yell at him. Such preparations could be considered a show of
respect, but Misora would have been perfectly capable of entering the
premises on her own, and she didn’t appreciate the extra help.

She
entered the property through the gate. The victim had been killed in
the bedroom--Misora could understand the general structure of the house
by looking at it from the outside, her FBI experience at work. The
bedroom was probably on the first floor, to allow ease of movement.
Despite the fact that exactly half a month had passed now since the
murder took place, there was no dust to be seen anywhere. The manager
must come in regularly to clean it.

“Um, L.”

“What is it?”

“According
to the information you gave me yesterday, it looks like the local
police have already finished their proper investigation here.”

“Yes.”

“How did you manage to get the police reports? Did they give them to you?”

“Yes.”

...Right. “Then isn’t me coming here after so much time has passed kind of pointless?”

“No,” L told her. “I want you to find something the police missed in their investigation of the crime scene.”

“Ah...like what?” Nothing would have changed since the police were here, and he hadn’t really answered her question.

“Searching
the premises a hundred times will not be without meaning,” he
explained. “Perhaps something new has surfaced now that time has
passed. I cannot help but think, Misora Naomi-san, that there is a
connection between this victim, Quarter Queen, and Backyard
Bottomslash, who was killed two days ago. If there is not, and we
assume that the killer has been choosing his victims indiscriminately,
by what means has he been sorting them? In other words, Misora
Naomi-san, I am asking you to find the missing link.”

“I see...”

She
didn’t, really, but she didn’t want to argue with L about it, so
instead she kept his request in mind and stepped inside the bedroom.
The door opened inward. There was a deadbolt on it.

It was the Closed Room situation.

Both
of the other crime scenes had involved a deadbolt as well--it was
recorded in the police reports. Could this be the connection between
the victims...? But no, if it was in the report L would have already
picked up on it. He wanted her to find something new. It was a small
room, and the sparse amount of furniture had been shoved up against the
wall, making it seem cramped. There was only large bed filling the
center, in front of a bookshelf. All of the books on it were
recreational; it seemed this was the room Believe Bridesmaid relaxed
in. So he kept his work and his private life separate; a little unusual
for a free-lance writer, but something he seemed to manage well. There
was probably a study somewhere upstairs, Misora mused, glancing at the
ceiling thoughtfully. She would need to see that later.

“By the
way, Misora Naomi-san. What do you think of the criminal in this case?
I would like to hear your deductions at this point.”

“I don’t think my opinion will help much.”

“Every possible deduction is vital to this case.”

Misora
didn’t answer for a moment, considering this. He had a point. “...I
think it’s strange,” she admitted, answering him directly instead of
dancing around the question like she had the day before. She’d thought
the entire case unusual since scanning the information L had given her.
“The killer didn’t just kill his victims. He did other weird stuff in
this room--and then he concealed it.”

“Like?”

“Like his fingerprints. The police couldn‘t find a single one; he wiped the entire crime scene clean.”

“Ah. But Misora Naomi-san, isn’t wiping one’s fingerprints from a crime scene a rudimentary act performed by any criminal?”

“Not like this, it isn’t. He went overboard.”

L
was testing her, she realized suddenly. He was asking for her input so
that he could compare it with his own, trying to see if she was worthy
of assisting him on this case.

“The criminal could have just
worn gloves,” she continued, “but he didn’t. He wiped down every one of
the crime scenes so that no prints were found--not his or victim’s, and
not friends’ or visitors‘. He even wiped down the light bulbs; there’s
not a single print anywhere. It‘s strange.”

“Yes, I agree.”

...How surprising.

“If
he’s that paranoid, L, I don’t think I’m going to find any new evidence
here. He’s the kind of criminal who doesn’t makes mistakes.”

Mistakes. Like the one she herself had made just last month.

“Normally
the investigative team finds a mistake made by the criminal and uses it
to catch them. But this time there’s just no mistake to find.”

“Yes, I agree,” L repeated. “However, what about something that is not a mistake?”

“Not a mistake?”

“Yes. Is there anything there that the police may have missed? That the criminal may have left behind on purpose?”

On
purpose? Did criminals do that? Why would someone leave evidence behind
on purpose, especially if it could get them caught? He would never...or
would he? Misora thought of the straw dolls and the deadbolts in the
Closed Rooms--had he purposefully left those two clues behind? They
couldn’t have been mistakes, especially the latter--the Closed Rooms.
There had to be a clue in that. The rooms had all been locked from the
inside, but the killer had made no move to disguise the homicides as
suicides. The first had been strangled, the second beaten--neither
weapon had been found on either crime scene, making the possibility of
suicide completely impossible. There had to be some hidden meaning to
the Closed Rooms. It was unnatural, and it was not there by mistake.

The dolls nailed to the wall had to be another clue. Misora didn’t understand the connection at all.

Straw
dolls like the ones left by the criminal were, in Japanese culture,
considered representations of strong grudges held against one person by
another, which suggested that the criminal was either Japanese or very
familiar with Japanese culture. These dolls were, however, only cheap
imitations of the real thing, and could be purchased for three dollars
at any nearby toy or convenience store, which might rule out that
theory.

Misora closed and locked the door, then turned to regard the spot on the wall where the doll had been nailed.

This
room had had four dolls. One had been nailed to each of the four walls
in the room, though they had, of course, been removed by the police as
physical evidence. Only the holes remained now. Misora took out the
pictures from the evidence folder and examined them, one photograph for
each doll. Another depicted Believe Bridesmaid lying where he had
fallen face-up on the bed, the strangulation marks clearly visible
around his neck.

There was one last photograph in the folder.

It
was of Believe Bridesmaid again, but in the hospital instead of his
bedroom, laid out naked after his autopsy. Large scars had been carved
into his chest by a knife, not deep, but stretching from one side of
his ribs to the other. They had been made postmortem.

“The
wounds on the victim’s corpse suggest that the killer held some kind of
grudge against him, maybe because of something he wrote? He’d submitted
articles to a lot of gossip columns; it’s very possible he made a few
enemies through them.”

“Then what of the second and third
murders, Misora Naomi-san? There was no correlation between them, and
their bodies had also been damaged postmortem, and with increasing
violence.”

“He could have done that to the others in order to
camouflage his resentment of Bridesmaid. Or maybe his grudge was
against one of the others, and Bridesmaid was killed as a decoy. The
escalated damage could just be another attempt to confuse us.”

“Did you read the file that suggested he killed indiscriminately?”

“Yes,
but that’s only speculation. The dolls suggest he’s killing them all
for identical offenses. The Closed Rooms could support this. It’s all
too...perfect.”

Everything had been set up too well for it to be
coincidence. Three separate murders, three separate ages, mixed genders
from three different sides of town, which involved three different
police units...he was trying to confuse them. He knew the more people
he involved, the more divisions, the more confusion he would spread
between them. The second victim, the little girl, was intended only to
add more useless questions.

“He made the crimes seem abnormal of purpose,” L told her. “No, too abnormal--also on purpose”

That deduction surprised Misora, a surprise that bordered admiration. She rushed her next statement in an effort to hide it.

“The
extent of the precautions he took for each victim seem nonsensical. The
police did a thorough investigation, yet he still managed to wash
himself of any relation he had with one of the three victims. Even the
third, Backyard Bottomslash, was connected through her job to dozens of
people, and yet--”

“But Misora Naomi-san,” L interrupted. “We have not yet collected all of our evidence. I fear there will be a fourth victim.”

“Oh...”

He’d
mentioned that the day before. But what gave him that conclusion? It
seemed likely that the killing spree would end after three murders,
even if the killer had yet to be caught. Additional homicides would
depend on his mood more than anything, but even then, the possibility
of another occurring was only a fifty/fifty chance.

“The number
of straw dolls,” L pointed out. “They decrease by one for every murder.
There were four where you are now. There were three downtown, and two
on the West Side. That leaves one more.”

“Right. So?”

“After the next murder, there will be no more dolls left.”

...That
was true. The indiscriminate killings could still be camouflage for his
true intention, but the next murder would probably be his last. This
increased the risk for potential victims, of course, but it also
increased the chances that the killer would make some sort of mistake.
He probably knew that and was willing to take the chance anyway.

“Just in case, L, what are the chances that there won‘t be five victims?”

“Ninety
percent,” he answered. “It is actually one hundred percent, but when
intervening circumstances are taken into account, such as something
happening to the criminal beforehand, it becomes ninety-two percent.
This is in the case of one more murder happening. The chances of him
committing a fifth murder is only three percent.”

“Three
percent...?” That was a pretty low probability. “Why three? If we
assume that one straw doll is equal to one victim, he’ll have one left
after his next murder--”

“Because he would have no doll to leave
behind at the crime scene of the fifth victim, and thus be unable to
link it to the other four.”

“Oh...I get it.”

Misora
wanted to hit herself for her stupidity. Of course there would be no
fifth victim if he couldn’t leave a doll behind. No doll meant the
murder could have been committed by anyone else, and he left them as
his calling card. No more dolls meant no more murders.

“The
probability of a fifth is three percent, though there is also a
possibility that the criminal will simply not make it to a fifth. I
don’t believe this will happen, though, as he is paranoid enough to
wipe even the light bulbs free of fingerprints.”

“Will his fourth victim be displayed publicly, do you think? Since it’ll be his last?”

“No,” L said, his synthetic voice forceful. “There will be no fourth now that I‘m on the case.”

...He was confident in himself. Or was it pride?

In
any case, it wasn’t any of Misora’s business, and she didn’t ask. It
could have been either; neither affected her or her work.

“I have chosen you to help me with this case because I respect your investigative abilities, Misora Naomi-san.”

“You...do?”

“Yes.
This case requires a calm disposition. You cannot allow yourself to be
shaken up by its strange nature. That is, therefore, what I request
from you.”

“L, are you aware that I’m currently on leave?”

“Yes. That is why I asked for your cooperation. You are able to move about freely.”

“So you must know why I’m on leave, then.”

“No, I do not.”

Misora was surprised. “...You didn’t check?”

“I
have no interest in it. You are a good detective and free to move about
as you wish, and that is all I care about--though if there is reason
for me to know, give me a minute and I can find out.”

“No...”

Misora
smiled wryly. It was funny how her mistake could be so well-known, and
yet the greatest detective in the world had no idea, simply because it
wasn’t of any interest to him. All he’d cared about was the fact that
she was on leave. It seemed L had a sense of humor.

“So in order
to prevent the fourth murder from taking place, we should get started
on our investigation. What should I do first, L?”

“What can you do?”

“Whatever
you tell me to,” Misora told him. “Did you want me to perform another
individual search of the room? What should I look for?”

“A message of some kind.”

“A message?”

“Yes.
There is something that was not included in the police report; on July
22nd, nine days before the first murder, a letter was sent to LAPD
Headquarters.”

“A letter?” What was he talking about? The LAPD...? “Was is something related to the case?”

“The police couldn’t find a connection between them, but I believe they are related, yes.”

“How certain are you?”

“Eighty
percent,” he answered quickly. “The sender used some type of forwarding
system to disguise the location he mailed it from. The content of the
envelope was a crossword puzzle written on a single sheet of paper.”

“A crossword puzzle? Um...”

“Do
not take it lightly, Misora Naomi-san. The level of difficulty was so
high that no one could solve it. It is possible that no one took it
seriously, but several members of the LAPD tried, and failed.”

“I understand. So what of it?”

“They
dismissed it as a prank that same day. I was able to obtain it from a
connection in the intelligence department, though. It arrived
yesterday.”

“Yesterday...”

That would be why it hadn’t
been included in the police report he’d sent her. So even then L had
been approaching the case from an angle that differed from hers.

“I
solved it,” L said. So the LAPD’s assumptions were wrong. Misora was a
little disappointed in them, though she really had no room to talk.

“If my solution is correct, the puzzle reveals the address where the first murder took place.”

“...Insist Street, Hollywood...number 22? I’m there now. But if that’s true, then...I see.”

“Yes.
It was a warning for the first homicide. Since no one was able to solve
it, however, no one was able to prevent it, but...”

“But the LAPD didn’t get any notes for the second and third murders?”

“Correct.
I extended my search throughout the entire state of California, but no
other such letters exist. I continue to look, but...”

“Then if
that’s the case--no, it can’t be a mistake, especially not if the
address was so precise. But why did he wait nine days to commit the
murder?”

“The period between the second and third murders was
also nine days, August 4th and August 13th. He seems to have some
preference for it.”

“But the period between the first and second was four days...Did something unexpected happen?”

“Yes,
that is a possibility. There is, however, still a space there. Nine,
four, nine... Regardless, he is the kind of killer who gives the police
advanced warning of his crimes. With the exception of the straw dolls,
he must have left another clue behind. The possibility that he did not
is very low.”

“Ah...all right.”

So something he’d left
behind purposefully, but not like the straw dolls. Something as
difficult to interpret as that crossword puzzle had been. She now
understood why L has asked for her cooperation; he needed someone who
could actually visit the crime scenes and investigate them in person,
but professionally, like he would. Someone who would share his point of
view.

But she wasn’t L. He’d requested that she help because she
was a detective in the FBI, but he might be expecting too much from
her. She could only act as his eyes, not think for him.

“How is the search going, Misora Naomi-san?”

“Ah...I haven’t found anything.”

“No? Then I must cut this communication. I have other things I must attend to.”

“All right.”

He
was probably working on dozens of other cases around the world in
addition to this one; it couldn’t be helped. He truly deserved the
title Greatest Detective in the World.

L, greatest detective of the century.

Who never saw his clients in person.

“Then I await a good report. When you contact me, use the fifth line.”

The
connection cut out. Misora flipped her phone closed and tucked it away
again, then turned to look at the bookshelf. Besides the bed, it was
the only piece of furniture in the room, so perhaps if she inspected it
thoroughly enough...

“Seems like Believe Bridesmaid was as nervous a person as the criminal...”

She
counted fifty-seven books altogether, packed so tightly that she had
trouble removing one to leaf through. She turned the pages delicately,
trying not to damage them in case the police involved them in the
investigation again later. The report had said they’d checked every
page for fingerprints, but hadn’t found a single one. She couldn’t find
anything that could double as a message either.

She was trying
to find something that might have been overlooked by the investigation
team, but book after book revealed nothing, not even a bookmark.
Believe Bridesmaid might have been the kind of person who didn’t use
them--that was fairly common among bibliophiles.

But if the criminal was as nervous as he was, would he have placed something in one of them that didn’t belong...?

She
moved on to the bed, peeling back the sheets to reveal...nothing. The
investigative team had already done this as well. It would be
difficult, catching something they hadn’t. They were all trained
professionals.

“Is it under the carpet?” she wondered aloud. “On
the back of the wallpaper? No, it wouldn’t be there...So where would he
hide it? It’s useless as a message if no one can find it. He took the
initiative when he sent that crossword puzzle to the police...So where
are the others? Why did he make this so hard? Ugh, this is pointless...”

There was no message to find.

This whole thing was ridiculous.

“‘You
can’t beat me,’ ‘You’re below me,’ that’s all that message was saying.
He’s just taunting us, the local police, the LAPD, society in general,
the US, the world...Unless it’s something smaller, something
personal...A meaning in it that would only appeal to one person...Then
there’s got to be something in this room to find...Wait.”

What if there was no message here.

What
if it was just on something that wasn’t here anymore. The straw dolls?
No, they meant something else entirely...But the only other thing
missing was...Could it be on the victim’s body?

Something on Believe Bridesmaid’s body?

She
pulled out the photographs again. There were two of the victim, one
from after the autopsy and one taken at the crime scene. If the killer
had left a message on him, it was probably in the knife wounds instead
of the marks left from the strangulation. She regretted what she’d said
to L earlier about them being signs of a grudge; they were too
unnatural for that. She eyed the one taken at the crime scene and
noticed that, while the T-shirt the victim was wearing was covered in
blood, it had not been damaged. That meant that the killer had
strangled the victim, inflicted the knife wounds after he was dead, and
then replaced his shirt with a fresh one. Why would he bother doing
that if he resented the victim for something? The blood had blotted the
fresh shirt anyway--which, she noticed, was a replacement for the
victim’s usual pajamas.

“Huh...now that I look at it...are those letters?”

She had to rotate the photo in order to change the angle and make them out more clearly.

“‘V’...‘C’...‘I’? No...‘M’...then ‘V’...‘X’...? ‘D’...three ‘I’s lined up in a row...L? Yeah...that’s what it says.”

He’d
carved the letters well, both curved and straight lines resembling
marks of a pencil more than a knife. He may have drawn them on before
applying the knife to them.

She would have liked to get the
opinions of the investigation team regarding these letters, but that
was impossible without her badge. Maybe L could do it later, if he
hadn‘t already. That would have been one advantage to working in a
group like the FBI. She could move freely on her own, yes, but she also
had only her own opinion to consult with.

“I guess I should take a look at the other rooms too, though he probably wiped them free of fingerprints as well--”

She
stopped as she suddenly remembered that she’d neglected to check one
final spot in the room; under the bed. It was a commonly overlooked
place, and the police may have missed it as well. Kneeling, she stooped
to take a look--

And jerked back when a hand extended from underneath it.

Stumbling
to her feet, she realized that she had no gun; she wasn’t allowed one
on suspension, and didn’t carry one normally anyway. There was,
therefore, nothing she could defend herself with. Nothing she could
pull the trigger of.

“Who...No, what...!?”

Her voice held
more conviction than she felt. Slowly, a right hand emerged, then a
left, then a body as the person crawled out from under the bed.

This person...When...?

How long had he been hiding under that bed...?

Had he overheard her conversation with L...?

So many questions were running through her mind.

“Answer me! Who the hell are you?” She put her hand in her jacket as if to withdraw her gun.

The
person pushed himself to his feet. His hair was a natural black, his
shirt a solid color and his jeans worn and a little faded. A young man
with dark, panda-like eyes. He looked like he would be tall if he
didn’t slouch, but as he stood now he was two heads shorter than Misora.

“Hello, it’s nice to meet you.”

He looked up at her from under his messy hair as he introduced himself.

“Please call me Ryuuzaki.”

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