As a Police Officer, I'm Always Worrying About Something - Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Conan Year One

Having just wrapped up her last case, Chinna was slumped over her desk, completely drained. With crime spiking lately, she had even gone to check on Shinichi Kudo a few days earlier.

Seeing that Shinichi hadn’t shrunk yet, she let out a huge sigh of relief but also felt a bit puzzled. ‘If he hasn’t shrunk, why are crime rates still going up?’

She picked up the pen on her desk, intending to write her case report.

‘Speaking of shrinking… wasn’t it in some kind of park?’ Chinna rested her chin on her hand, trying to remember.

“…A date at Tropical Land!”

“Huh? What?!” Chinna snapped out of her thoughts.

“I said, sis, were you even listening to me?!” Shinichi Kudo complained on the other end of the phone. “Are you sure you’re fit to be a cop?”

“Hah? You little brat, are you questioning me?” Chinna immediately forgot what she’d been thinking and just wanted to teach this cocky kid a lesson.

“No, no,” Shinichi quickly backed down, remembering his sister’s combat skills were even scarier than his childhood friends’.

“So what do you want?” Chinna leaned back in her chair, twirling the pen in her hand.

“Ran and I are going on a date this afternoon!” Shinichi said happily. “But I’m having trouble picking an outfit. Sis, which one should I wear?”

“A date?” Chinna stopped spinning the pen. “You call that Holmes-style crime-solving outing a date?”

“Hey, that’s harsh!” Shinichi protested. “What’s wrong with Holmes? Holmes is awesome!”

“Sure, Holmes is great,” Chinna said, twitching a smile. “Where are you two going?”

“I knew you weren’t listening!” Shinichi accused. “Tropical Land! What does that have to do with what I wear?”

“Of course it matters!” Chinna paused for a second at the familiar name but didn’t let it show.

“Oh, absolutely it matters,” Chinna replied, pausing slightly at the name of the park but keeping her voice even. “You don’t wear street clothes to a five-star dinner, right? Or sandals to a library. You also don’t show up to an amusement park in a three-piece suit.”

“Oh!” Shinichi exclaimed. “I know what to wear now! thanks, sis! Gotta go!”

Before Chinna could respond, the call ended.

“Wait, what do you mean you know?!” she groaned, staring at the phone.

But clearly, he couldn’t hear her anymore.

‘So this is the case where Shinichi shrinks, right?’ Chinna slumped back onto her desk. ‘I remember there was a case… I’ll just follow along and stop it when it happens.’

“Fujimine! Takagi!” Just as she was thinking about the case, Date called out to her.

“What’s up, Date?” Chinna stood up and asked.

“There’s a report from 4th block in Beika Town,” Date waved them over. “But according to the mobile unit, it looks like an accident. We should be back soon.”

Chinna let out a breath of relief. If it was quick, maybe she could still make it back in time.

They drove to the scene, but Chinna didn’t see a body.

“Not a murder?” she asked, puzzled, but still put on her gloves.

“Technically, he died in the ambulance,” Date explained. “The doctor who rode along was the one who called it in.”

“That’s ridiculous!” a woman’s sharp voice rang out nearby. “It wasn’t murder!”

“And she is?” Date asked, stepping closer.

Maybe it was the authority in his voice, but the woman quickly fell quiet.

“Ah! Officer Date, Officer Fujimine, Officer Takagi,” a young officer greeted them. “This is Nakamura Masaya, daughter of the deceased, Nakamura Naoto.”

“I heard the caller was a doctor?” Chinna turned to the young officer.

“That would be her,” he said, pointing to a woman being questioned nearby.

She wore a white lab coat, buttoned all the way to the top, and answered questions with a cold, detached expression.

“Hello,” Chinna approached her. “I’m Fujimine, in charge of this case.”

“Hello,” the woman nodded slightly. “Inoue Sakurako.”

“May I ask why you called the police?” Chinna began the routine questioning. “As I understand it, the victim died in the ambulance despite resuscitation efforts?”

Instead of answering, Inoue asked, “If you had a serious heart condition, would you listen to heavy metal music at home?”

“You mean, you saw the victim listening to heavy metal before he died?” Chinna jotted the question into her notebook.

“I didn’t see it myself,” Inoue replied. “There was no music playing when I arrived. But the DVD player showed that a popular heavy metal track had been playing seven minutes earlier. It took us ten minutes to get there.”

“So… you’re reporting this based purely on suspicion?” Chinna raised an eyebrow, a bit surprised. Most people wouldn’t notice something like that.

“Isn’t that enough to raise suspicion? Someone with a serious heart condition wouldn’t listen to that kind of thing!” Inoue said, clearly irritated or maybe just distrustful of the officer in front of her.

“But what if he just liked it?” Chinna countered instinctively, then caught herself. “Sorry, I tend to argue. Please continue.”

Inoue looked exasperated but went on. “That woman, his daughter, refused to let me treat him. That’s why he died.”

“You’re just an intern!” Nakamura Masaya shouted from the other side, startling Takagi. “How could I trust my father to an intern?!”

Takagi tried to calm her down. Meanwhile, Chinna glanced discreetly at Inoue’s name tag. Sure enough, intern.

“Hah? Intern?” Inoue let out a bitter laugh. “Weren’t you the one who said you’d feel more comfortable with me, since I’m your neighbor? You specifically asked for me!”

“That’s… that’s because…” Masaya looked around nervously. “I didn’t know! I didn’t know you were an intern!”

“Chinna!” Date called from where he was examining the body. “Come take a look at this.”

Chinna walked over. Date pointed to the top of Nakamura Naoto’s head. “There’s a small dent here. See if anything seems off.”

Chinna crouched down and felt the spot. There was a shallow indentation—subtle enough that someone unfamiliar might think it was just a natural variation.

“Impressive you noticed that, Date,” Chinna stood up. “It’s so subtle.”

“I was just curious,” Date shrugged. “Strange things are worth pointing out, right? More minds are better than one.”

“Speaking of which,” Chinna added, “Inoue, the doctor who reported it said the victim might’ve been listening to heavy metal before he died. You know how that could affect someone with a serious heart condition.”

“But Miss Nakamura said her father liked that kind of music,” Takagi joined them, having finished his questioning. “It made him a little uncomfortable, but she’d massage his head afterward.”

“She even soundproofed the room so it wouldn’t bother anyone else,” Takagi added, flipping through his notes.

“Massaging his head?” Chinna frowned. “Shouldn’t it be his chest?”

“No idea,” Takagi shook his head. “She said it was just his head.”

“Speaking of the music,” Date said suddenly, “could the heart attack have been triggered by audio resonance?”

As they spoke, the three of them entered the room where Nakamura had collapsed. Takagi casually turned on the DVD playback history—and was immediately blasted by deafening sound. All three jumped, and Takagi scrambled to shut it off.  

“Yes,” Chinna said, rubbing her ears in response to Date’s earlier question. “Dr. Inoue also mentioned that patients like Nakamura Naoto typically wouldn’t listen to this kind of music.”

“Forget heart disease, even I can’t handle that volume,” Takagi muttered.

“Hm?” Chinna looked at the DVD display. “It says the default volume is two bars out of ten, but it’s currently set to eight.”

“No wonder it triggered a heart attack,” Date said, staring at the screen. “If Mr. Nakamura always listened at that level, it’s a miracle he lasted this long.”

“No,” Chinna said suddenly, “maybe it wasn’t a miracle. Maybe someone turned the volume up.”

“What’s the point of that? If the music caused discomfort, he could’ve just turned it off,” Date frowned.

“Dr. Inoue said the DVD was still playing seven minutes before the ambulance arrived. She checked the time,” Chinna said, flipping through her notebook.

“So Nakamura’s daughter didn’t turn off the music after calling for help. She let it keep playing until her father couldn’t take it anymore,” Takagi speculated.

‘Music… resonance… the dent on his head…’ A thought clicked in Chinna’s mind.

“Have either of you heard that repeatedly striking the same spot on the skull over time can be fatal?”

“Wait, really? That can kill someone?” Takagi asked, shocked.

Date, recalling the dent they’d found on the victim’s head, nodded slowly. “But we don’t have proof.”

“Guys,” Chinna said, waving her phone, “just got an update, Nakamura Masaya paid off her loan today. It was the final deadline.”

“She also took out a life insurance policy on her father six months ago,” Takagi added.

“So she killed her own father to clear her debt?” Date asked, stunned.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Chinna said, scrolling further. “She filed multiple reports of domestic abuse. Her mother left because of it.”

“We’ve got motive and method, but no hard evidence,” Takagi said, frustrated.

Chinna didn’t respond. She glanced at a hidden camera in the corner, then walked over to Nakamura Masaya.

“Miss Nakamura, I heard you just paid off your debt.”

“They were pressuring me… I had no choice. I went to the bank right after he passed,” she replied.

“Two birds with one stone, huh?” Chinna said casually.

“W-What?” Masaya blinked.

“Kill your father and pay off your debt. Pretty efficient, don’t you think?” Chinna said slowly.

“What?! I didn’t kill him! He brought it on himself!” Masaya snapped. “Is this how the police treat people?!”

“Your father was secretly filming the neighbor changing clothes,” Chinna said, walking to the corner and retrieving the hidden camera.

She stopped the recording and rewound it to just before the heart attack. Holding it up, she said, “This is your crime record. Oh, and by the way, your father died from repeated blunt trauma to the same spot on his head, didn’t he?”

Whether it was the shock of hearing the cause of death or fear of what else the footage might show, Masaya confessed.

“…He abused my mother. At first it was just verbal, but then he started hitting her…” she said, defeated. “After he drove her away, he started hitting me. Do you know why?”

Her eyes widened. “Because of that music! It made his heart act up, but he insisted on listening to it. Said he liked it!”

“But when he felt sick, he’d lash out!” she continued. “Then he was diagnosed with severe heart disease. He stopped hitting me but started gambling. He forced me to strip and take out high-interest loans in my name!”

“He loved that music, right?” she said, voice cracking. “Then let it be the soundtrack to his funeral!”

After confessing, Masaya was taken into custody. On the way out, Chinna asked, “How did you know that repeated strikes to the same spot on the head could be fatal?”

“I overheard Dr. Inoue mention it once,” Masaya replied.

Watching the police car disappear, Inoue Sakurako removed her white coat and got into a nearby car. “Let’s go, Vermouth.”

“So close, Vesper,” said the blonde woman in the driver’s seat—Vermouth—starting the engine and driving off.

Watching the patrol car fade in the rearview mirror, Vesper muttered, “Didn’t expect that abusive creep to be a voyeur too and recording it, no less.”

She looked disgusted, as if recalling something vile.

“Take off your mask already, Vesper,” Vermouth said. “That face doesn’t suit you.”

“Really?” Vesper touched her face. “I think it looks great.”

“What’s it like, showing your face to the cops?” Vermouth asked, changing the subject.

Vesper didn’t answer. “What about that woman?”

“Still alive. Left her in the ambulance,” Vermouth replied.

“Tch,” Vesper scoffed. “Should’ve killed her. If she hadn’t meddled, this would’ve been the perfect crime.”

“Harder to explain a corpse,” Vermouth said calmly.

Vesper didn’t argue. She knew killing and impersonating were two very different things.

Bored, she peeled off her disguise, revealing a sharp, commanding face with a beauty mark under one eye and upturned eyes that gave her a fierce presence.

The car stopped in front of a bar. Vesper and Vermouth got out and walked inside, where two men were waiting.

“Good evening, Gin. Vodka,” Vesper greeted.

“Evening, Vesper,” Vodka replied.

Gin stubbed out his cigarette. “Rein in that unchecked criminal impulse, Vesper. Just this once.”

“Got it,” Vesper said, settling at the bar. Her mind wandered to Chinna’s face. “I finally found a fun little toy~”