Chapter 137: An Investigative Approach That Even Hydra Would Despise

Doubt, once ignited, is impossible to extinguish. Compounded by the blurred lens of suspicion itself, Ran Mouri found that the more she looked at Conan, the more he resembled Shinichi Kudo.

However, the idea of someone regressing in age was far too challenging to her worldview, so she could not yet be certain.

It was not until the moment they emerged from a restaurant with Officer Sakata, and a corpse crashed onto their patrol car, that Conan’s instinctive dash toward the rooftop finally convinced her: he was indeed her childhood friend, Shinichi Kudo.

Yet, she could not fathom why this had happened, nor was she certain whether she should confront Conan about it.

Minutes later, Heiji Hattori and Conan descended from the roof, working with Sakata to secure the crime scene. Standing behind them was the owner of the coffee shop, whose silhouette on the roof had been what drew Conan up there in the first place.

"The method for this crime is quite simple," Heiji Hattori addressed the onlookers. "After killing the victim, the murderer tied him to the rooftop railing. Once the door was opened, the body would simply fall."

His reputation here was as formidable as Shinichi Kudo’s had been before his disappearance, so his words carried significant weight.

"Is this really how the Japanese police handle cases?"

A voice drifted from the back of the crowd. Heiji looked up and frowned; it was the man whom Ran had kicked away earlier.

"Sir, I am a detective," Heiji said, looking at Frank.

"A detective? A profession destined to be replaced. It’s truly bizarre. Your police are so incompetent—not only did they fail to secure the scene after a death occurred, but before a full autopsy, they are listening to a child spout nonsense."

Leveraging his status as a foreigner, Frank pushed his way to the front. Sakata immediately stepped forward to block him.

"What? He can go in, but I can't?" Frank stopped and looked at Sakata. He was ready to play the discrimination card at the slightest wrong move—a tactic he was well-versed in from his time operating in the States.

"Hey! Where did this weirdo come from? Don't cause trouble here! Heiji is very skilled!" Kazuha Toyama shouted from the side.

Frank reached up, removed his sunglasses, and glanced at the corpse. "Height 170 to 175 centimeters, arm span around 65 centimeters, proficient in police combat techniques. This was not a crime of passion; the perpetrator has strong mental fortitude, though their physical strength is likely average."

At this, Frank glanced up at the railing from which the body had fallen.

"Judging by the marks, the body wasn't hanging there for more than an hour. Before being hoisted up, the body was kept indoors or under cover..."

The onlookers were stunned. Though they didn't fully grasp the details, they felt it sounded professional and impressive.

Frank lowered his head and beckoned to Heiji. "Come here. I need your cooperation for a moment."

Heiji walked over instinctively.

When describing the crime, Frank exuded an extreme confidence—a confidence even more intense than that of the famous detectives themselves, as if he had witnessed the entire murder as it happened.

"Now, I am the killer, and you will play the victim. Any objections?"

"None."

Frank approached Heiji and extended his hand as if for a casual greeting. Heiji reached out to shake it.

The moment their palms met, Frank’s arm moved with a fluid motion. With a twist, he pinned Heiji to the ground, his knee pressing firmly against the boy's back. It was a standard police grappling technique.

In the States, this move had another name: "I can't breathe."

Heiji struggled instinctively, but Frank gave a slight adjustment, and the pain rendered Heiji unable to resist effectively. Suddenly, Frank eased the pressure.

"Keep struggling. In your mind, if you are subdued, you will surely die."

Hearing this, Heiji began to thrash. He realized that once controlled by a police hold, without a vast disparity in strength, struggling only forced one to twist their body, which in itself induced greater agony, especially with the assailant controlling the joints from behind.

Frank released his grip. "Understand now?"

Heiji climbed to his feet, brow furrowed, fists clenched. Inside his palm was a small ball of paper Frank had slipped to him.

Frank turned to the others—or rather, to Officer Sakata.

"The murderer is either an acquaintance of the victim or holds a position of natural trust. After all, a normal person wouldn't just shake hands with someone when they are the only two people around."

"Secondly, the murderer likely held a grudge. After subduing the victim by surprise, he likely voiced that grudge, causing the victim to struggle violently—which explains the marks on the front of the body."

Sakata listened to Frank, cold sweat beading on his forehead. It was terrifying; what Frank said was nearly identical to the facts, as if he had been standing right there when the murder took place.

Frank smiled and shifted his gaze away from Sakata. If he kept this up, the man would confess on the spot; his mental resilience was lacking.

As for how he knew it was Sakata, one shouldn't forget that Frank was intimately familiar with revenge killings. Furthermore, he had harvested more lives than this policeman had ever seen in the morgue. Could he not tell who had a guilty conscience?

"Lastly, the fact that the body landed on the police car was no coincidence. One only needs to ask the people around here; how could something that large be hung from the roof without anyone noticing?"

"As for why it was a patrol car, the answer is simple. Think about it yourselves."

Conan already understood. Since Frank had laid it out so clearly, the body landing on the patrol car was either an act of defiance or a sign that the killer had, for some reason, been able to control the movement of that specific vehicle.

Heiji knew even more, as he had been the one to drag Officer Sakata along on this trip, meaning this incident was an absolute, unavoidable accident for him.

"One final reminder." Frank put his sunglasses back on and slowly walked out of the crowd, glancing at a woman who looked frantic. "Some things cannot be escaped."

Under Frank’s gaze, the woman fled in a panic, scrambled into a car, and sped away from the scene.

Officer Sakata leaned powerlessly against the patrol car. He knew it was all over.